Fine Fellows Lead Fine Lives
by ScroogeMcDuck
Summary: Written during a Creative Writing course in the summer of 08 to introduce my newfound friends to Oliver Twist - see A/N for more details.
1. Prologue

A/N: This wee fic has several chapters but no concrete plot (as of yet), thus the generic title. It was originally written in the summer of 2008, when I was attending Michigan Technological University's Summer Youth Program. It was intended to introduce some of the storyline and characters of 'Oliver Twist' to my writing group; everything's based on the book in the end but a couple of scenes were taken from it and modified for the story's purposes. I didn't include Oliver though…don't ask. –head desk-

If you have further plot ideas or suggestions for where this should go, please PM me! I have some thoughts of my own, but I'm curious to hear what my readers think. =) I'd love to continue, but need good ideas and inspiration to do so!

Here's hoping you enjoy it!

-ScroogeMcDuck

Fine Fellows Lead Fine Lives

An Oliver Twist Fanfiction

Prologue

_Deep in the bowels of London's underworld, where thieves and murderers roamed free, one domain in particular appeared unique._

_It was a dimly lit and shabby dwelling, but this was made up for by the colourful array of pocket handkerchiefs strung about the walls._

_Here and there young pickpockets slept; grimy faced and curled in moth-eaten blankets._

_In their midst stood a worn old table, upon which sat a battered and dusty box. A haggard old gentleman, in a tattered coat and mud-encrusted shoes, with a shock of fiery, matted hair, examined the contents of the small box with glee._

"_Fine fellows," he whispered hoarsely to himself. "Clever dogs…clever dogs…"_

_He replaced one trinket in the box and examined another, chuckling slyly as he did so._

"_They never peached on old Fagin…not even when they knew they was to be hung…dear boys…clever dogs…"_

_A soft sigh._

_Another chuckle._

_The clink of jewels._

_The creak of the box lid._

_The shallow breathing of the old man._

_Silence._


	2. Dodger's Fare & Sykes' Proposal

Chapter One: Dodger's Fare & Sykes' Proposal

The door of Fagin's humble abode creaked open and in came a scrawny young chap of about four and ten years of age. He was as strangely attired as the old gentleman; a capacious waistcoat, checked trousers a size too big for him, small dirty shoes and, perhaps the most curious item of all, a gentleman's black top hat. The sprightly lad, looking very pleased with himself, doffed said hat to his benefactor after he had closed the door.

"'Ello Fagin!" he chirped. "'Ow's tricks?"

"All right Dodger my dear," replied the old man, quickly hiding his treasure box inside his ragged green coat. "And how was work this morning?"

"Business is brisk, my man!" cried the Dodger, tossing Fagin an assortment of items from inside various pockets, naming them as he did so. "A couple o' wipes, a wallet and this 'ere snuffbox; ain't tha' a lovely bit of stuff?"

Fagin nodded, tossing the small silver box childishly from hand to hand.

"Oh, an' I almost forgot!" Dodger pulled a loaf of bread from inside his jacket and a string of sausages from under his hat. "Grub!"

"Excellent work, my dear," Fagin exclaimed, grinning toothily up at his best pickpocket. "Excellent work!" He hobbled over to the fireplace to begin cooking breakfast, while Dodger went to wake up his best mate and partner in crime, Master Charley Bates.

"OI! Charley!" Dodger yelled, kicking the wiry young fellow in an attempt to wake him. "Gerrup! We got work to do, you lazy dog! You can't just lie there all day!"

Charley Bates, scowling ferociously, rolled over in bed and proceeded to ignore the Dodger.

"C'mon Charley!" Dodger said in a sing-song voice, trying a new tactic. "There's grub on the table!"

"GRUB!" exclaimed Master Bates, immediately leaping out of bed and pushing past his friend. "Why didn't you say so, Jack?"

"The name," snapped Dodger, adjusting his hat. "Is Dodger. Artful Dodger! Not crummy ol' Jack Dawkins! Artful Dodger, esquire!" Feeling very self important he followed Charley to the table, where more of Fagin's gang had begun to congregate.

Fagin had laid out a splendid spread of Dodger's hard earned fare and soon all the boys were tucking in heartily. That is, until…

"OI! Fagin! These sausages are mouldy!"

"Shut up an' drink yer gin!" came the reply.

When breakfast was over, mouldy or otherwise, all the young men went off to work. Fagin busied himself tidying the dirty plates and chipped mugs before hiding his box of treasures in its usual place, underneath a floorboard. He was just stringing up the newest handkerchiefs on the wall when the door opened again.

The man that lumbered in was stockily built, ill-shaven and brutal looking, dressed in clothes stained with sweat, dirt and alcohol. At the brute's heels stood a vicious looking bulldog, which growled at Fagin as he bobbed out from behind the curtain of handkerchiefs to greet them.

"Bill, my dear!" the old man cried, clapping a knarled hand on the newcomers shoulder. "Come in, my dear, come in!"

The burly gentleman obliged, seating himself at the newly-cleared table, his dog laying down at his heels.

"Get me some gin Fagin," the man growled. "And mind you don't poison it!"

Fagin hurriedly assured him that he would do no such thing, cackling madly as he did so before pouring his acquaintance some spirit from a grubby bottle and sitting down himself.

"And how are you, my dear?" Fagin inquired, sipping his own glass of alcohol.

"Wot does it matter to you, you avaricious skeleton?" snarled Bill, his free hand curling into a fist.

Fagin looked affronted, curling a lip. "It matters, Bill Sykes, it matters! I want to know how you're doing! Is that so wrong?"

"Fine then," said Bill flatly. "Nancy's fine an' the dog's fine too, so you can save yer breath askin' after 'em."

"Good!" Fagin said, smiling wickedly. "Good my dear!" He took a big gulp of gin before posing his next enquiry. "What do you want with me, Bill?"

"I need to borrow one of yer boys," replied Sykes in his gravelly tones. "I found a good crib to break into tonight but the only way ter get in undetected is through this stinkin' little window!" He pounded a fist on the table to vent his frustration with the architect before continuing. "I need a lad to climb in an' open the door fer me, so I can get you some stuff, so you can get me some cash, y'hear?"

"I do, my dear, I do," Fagin said, tugging at his scraggly beard as he thought the matter over. "And I think I know just the lad…"

Right on cue, the Artful Dodger and Charley Bates burst in; sweaty faced and out of breath.

"Nearly…got…caught!" Dodger wheezed.

"By…the…traps!" finished up Charley, fanning his face with his cap.

"But you got something to show for it, my dears?" said Fagin quickly, somehow managing to look anxious and disapproving at the same time.

"'Course we did Fagin!" replied Dodger; it was his turn to look affronted. "When 'ave we ever disappoint-"

"Well hand it over then!" snarled Fagin, his frown deepening.

Dodger and Charley handed Fagin their wares; two handkerchiefs apiece and a magnificent gold pocket watch from Dodger. Fagin smiled broadly and poured the young gentlemen some gin and water. It was only then that the two boys noticed Bill Sykes and his dog, both looking stony faced, the dog breaking the image of solemnity by wagging its tail.

"Mr. Sykes!" cried Dodger in awe, he aspired to be just like the burglar when he could. Fagin delighted in telling him he was 'a right little Bill Sykes' already; a pet-name in which the Dodger took immense pride.

"Dodger," sneered Sykes, taking a moment to bask in his apparent brilliance. "'Ow would you like to come a-housebreakin' wiv me, eh?" It wasn't really a question. You complied with Bill Sykes if you wanted all four of your limbs to remain intact.

"Loike to?" cried Dodger, misinterpreting the rhetoricality of the question and bouncing on the spot. "I'd love to Mr. Bill Sykes, sir!"

"Thought so…" said Sykes, with a wry smile at Dodger's eagerness. "I'll send for ye tonight." The thug turned to Fagin, drained the last of his gin and, with a swift flick of his wrist, sent the mug flying at the other man's head.

Fagin, terrified, ducked just in time and the mug smashed noisily against the wall. Sykes chuckled at Fagin's terror, called for the dog and left as suddenly as he'd come.

Fagin, grumbling to himself, brushed himself off and scurried off to string up the new wipes.

"Did you 'ear tha' Charley?" exclaimed Dodger, turning to his friend. Charley hadn't looked very pleased as the conversation between Sykes and Dodger progressed; indeed now he looked positively livid!

"Don't get so excited!" Charley snapped, arms folded across his chest. "It's just house-breakin' wiv Bill Sykes!"

"_Just house-breakin' wiv Bill Sykes_?" Dodger repeated incredulously, but Charley had by this time stalked away to play at cards with some of the other boys who had just returned.

Fagin poked his head out from behind the latest handkerchief collection. "Charley may be right, my dear," he said softly. "I taught Bill Sykes you know…a very violent man…I fear he may treat you ill, my dear!"

Dodger scowled, shrugged and sat himself down on the table, waiting for night to fall.


	3. Robbing & Repercussions

Chapter Two: Robbing & Repercussions 

Night finally arrived and Bill came as he said. Fagin, after the previous escape, cowered away from him, but still managed to choke out a fond farewell to Dodger. Charley, still sulking, did not say goodbye.

Bill Sikes and The Artful Dodger travelled through the dark slums of London town, past the pubs, run-down buildings and squalor. They didn't speak; Bill was focused on the task ahead and Dodger was nervous as he wanted to impress the housebreaker.

After some time, with the full moon glimmering above them, they arrived at their destination.

"You listen, you ruffian!" snarled Sykes. "I'm gonna pry open this here window. You are gonna gerrin there an' open the front door real quiet. You gerrit?"

Dodger nodded, frightened and uneasy. It seemed Fagin and Charley had been right about Bill Sykes.

"I got a gun," Sykes hissed. "If you do summit stooped, this gun'll fire a shot through yer noggin!"

Having imparted these words of comfort, Sykes proceeded as he had said, prying open the window with his crowbar. This feat accomplished, he proceeded to shove Dodger through.

The boy fell with a thump on the floor. Biting his lip to keep from crying out he scrambled to his feet and hurried to the front door, Sykes watching him all the while through the little window.

Unfortunatley for Dodger, the bolt that held the front door shut was very stiff and, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't force it open.

"What's takin' so long?" came Sykes' voice. Dodger, looking down, saw the housebreaker scowling ferociously through the letterbox. He stifled a yell of surprise and returned his attention to the problem at hand.

"The bolt's stuck!" Dodger whispered back, frustrated, tugging harder so his fingers became sore and red.

"Stupid rat!" growled the burglar. "Try harder!"

Dodger did. Ready to give up, he gave the bolt a final tug and, as luck would have it, the door sprang open. Dodger was knocked to the floor as Sykes rushed in; he staggered to his feet once again and backed away, dazed from the blow the door had dealt him. He backed straight into a table, on which sat a proud display of china. He whirled around but not in time to stop the table from collapsing, its contents shattering on impact with the floor.

Dodger winced.

The loud crashing and clanging had evidently alerted the household; the thieves heard doors opening above their heads, footsteps and panicked voices.

Sykes cursed, grabbed Dodger by the hair and pulled him out of the house, cursing under his breath.

"My hat!" cried Dodger stupidly. "Where is it?"

"It don't matter, you vermin!" shouted Sykes. "Run! NOW!"

Dodger didn't. He couldn't without his beloved hat! After a moments frantic searching he spotted it, in the grass beneath the window through which he'd entered. As Sykes began to run off, Dodger dashed over and grabbed it, jamming it firmly onto his head. Feeling guilty and stupid, suppressing tears, he hurried after Sykes, back to the streets of old London town.

Little did he know of the repercussions that awaited him at Fagin's lair…

--

"Dodger, my dear?" Fagin cried, hearing a thump on the door. "Bill?"

"Of course it's us!" Bill hollered back. "Let us in, you old fence!"

Fagin unlocked the door of his humble abode, greeting by the sight of a livid Bill Sykes and a Dodger whose face was streaked with tears. He hurriedly ushered the pair inside and poured them some large measures of gin.

"What happened?" asked Fagin in a friendly tone, seemingly oblivious to the tension filling the room.

"This brat messed it up!" said Sykes curtly. "We got nuffink at all thanks to 'im!"

"It's not my fault!" protested Dodger. "I can explain wot 'appened!"

Fagin's face fell and he shook his head sadly. "Dodge, Dodge, Dodge…" he said softly. "I thought you wanted to impress Mr. Sykes!"

"I did-" began Dodger, but Sykes interrupted him.

"I shouldn't 'ave brought 'im, I should've brought an old 'and. New 'uns always ruin fings. Now, Charley Bates, 'e's a good 'un!" Bill glared at Dodger as he said this and Dodger stared back, furious and, all of a sudden, comprehending. That was why Charley hadn't been excited for him! That was why he was so angry! Dodger had unknowingly taken his place! He sniffed pitifully.

"All my raids 'ave been successful Fagin, you know tha'!" Sykes continued, standing to leave. "Every raid but this one.."

Resisting the urge to give Dodger a blow to the head with his crowbar, Sykes swept from the room.

"Go to bed Dodger," Fagin snapped. "Get some rest. I'll deal with you in the morning."

Dodger obliged.

He cried himself to sleep.

The next morning when Dodger awoke, puffy eyed and weary, it was to find all the boys were already out at work. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he struggled out of bed, yawning widely. He felt terrible and even more so when he saw Fagin, who was sitting at the table and glaring in his direction.

"About time you were up, Dodger!" Fagin said, with none of his usual cheerfulness. "It's nearly two o' clock!"

Dodger noticed the pocket watch he had stolen the previous day in Fagin's hand and felt a momentary optimism; was Fagin still angry with him about last night's bungled housebreaking? "Sorry…" he said earnestly, truly meaning it. "For last night…I...I'm sorry Fagin!"

Fagin gave Dodger a small smile, but then continued in his unusual, threatening voice; "Seeing as it's no longer morning-" here he broke into a smile "-I guess I won't have to punish you my dear, eh?" Fagin laughed uproariously and Dodger having gotten over the shock of his sudden personality change, laughed along with him.

"Now then," said Fagin briskly, placing a plate of food he'd saved from breakfast in front of the hungry pickpocket. "You're to have your grub, my dear, then see if you can go out and pick a pocket or two, eh?" Chuckling, he returned to his usual chair and began toying with the pocket watch, childishly spinning it round and round on its gold chain.

Dodger laughed too before hurriedly finishing his food. He thanked Fagin profusely and then scampered merrily away.

"Fine fellow..." whispered Fagin to himself. "Clever dog…"


	4. A Prime Plant & A Public House

Chapter Three – A Prime Plant & A Public House

Dodger and Charley were having a bad day. There didn't seem to be many good pockets to pick and when there were the two boys argued over it instead of working as a team. Charley was still furious that Dodger had 'stolen' his job as Sykes' right hand housebreaker and didn't want him to get the best pockets too, whilst Dodger tried to convince Charley how bad it had really been, as well as trying to patch up their friendship.

It was probably due to this that Charley got caught.

He and Dodger, having seen a prime plant across the road both began to run towards him, each trying to outdo the other. Dodger tripped and fell, having to pick himself up hurriedly to avoid being crushed by a passing hackney cab. In this confusion, Charley reached the wealthy gentleman first.

So focused was he on his task of robbing the man that he didn't notice the policeman standing idly nearby. No sooner had Charley stuck his hand into the man's back pocket than he felt a firm grip on his shoulder and heard a stern voice in his ear:

"I saw that, sonny!"

Charley gave a squeak of terror and tried to slap the hand away, but the policeman (for that was who had detained him) had too strong a grip. No matter how hard Charley struggled, he could not break free. He began to yell for help; the policeman, the rich man, Dodger…it all swam before his eyes.

"Please don't take me away sir!" he pleaded. "I got a sick mother at 'ome sir, I gotta get money somehow!"

"Sure you do!" sneered the policeman and then, to the rich gentleman; "I'll take him down to the station sir, I assume you would like to press charges?"

Charley looked frantically around; he could see people glaring at him from all sides, but no Dodger. His best friend was gone…it was all his fault…he had ruined their friendship and now he was going to the clink… Weighed down with shame and grief, Charley Bates was taken away.

Dodger was, once again, filled with guilt. He wanted to help Charley but there was no way he could have done without being caught himself. He had run all the way back to the streets with which he was more familiar to escape the traps and was now slumped against the wall of a pub close to Fagin's den. Clutching a stitch in his side he sunk slowly onto the dirty cobblestones and wrapped his arms around his knees. What was he going to do? How could he possibly tell Fagin?

He had been sitting outside getting numb with cold for some time, when he heard a familiar voice hailing him.

"Watcha doing down there Dodge?"

The new speaker was a pale, thin young woman, clad in a tattered red dress that looked to be falling apart at the seams. Her capital looking face, coated in a thin layer of makeup, was framed by stringy copper coloured locks. Nancy, live-in girlfriend to none other than Bill Sykes.

"Nance!" cried Dodger, both relieved and pleased to see her.

"What's wrong Dodge?" asked the young woman, crouching down beside him. "You don't look well!" She paused. Then; "Where's Charley? Don't you two always go on the job together?"

Dodger sniffed, trying to keep back tears of shame and humiliation.

"Charley…got caught…" he whispered, between heaving breaths. "By…the traps…I couldn't do nuffink wivout getting' caught mysel'…"

Nancy engulfed the small boy in a hug, trying to comfort him. She hated seeing him when he wasn't his usual energetic, cheerful self. What could they do? How could they help Charley?

Then, Nancy had an idea. It sounded foolish, but it just might work.

--

"Oh Charley! Poor, dear Charley! What has become of him?"

The policeman at the desk looked up to see a sobbing young woman swathed in a patched tartan shawl. He frowned a little as he answered her question.

"What do you mean ma'am?" he asked briskly. "Who's Charley?"

"My brother!" cried the young lady in anguish. "My poor, dear brother! He was arrested this morning for trying to pick a man's pocket; he would never do something like that! Our mother is ill enough as it is; now she's sick with worry about him too!"

The man looked concerned as the woman burst into a fresh flood of tears, burying her face in her hands.

"Please calm down ma'am," he said hastily, getting up and moving towards the door. "I'll see what can be done for your brother."

--

Dodger looked up at the sound of laughter. Glancing towards the entrance of the alleyway, who should he see but Nancy and Charley Bates, both running towards him and near breathless with laughter.

"DODGE!" cried Charley, engulfing the other boy in a hug as soon as he was close enough. Dodger hugged his friend back tightly, relief washing over him.

"It worked like a charm Dodge," Nancy told her young friend proudly. "The traps bought it so easily; I wish you'd seen their faces!"

The threesome reveled in another laugh but their pleasantry was abruptly halted in its tracks as a certain withered old gentleman emerged from the nearby pub, his eyes narrowed.

"I'm very disappointed in you two!" Fagin snarled. "Thanks to your petty quarreling, one of you got caught! I don't want anything like this to happen again! Understand?" The old man was trembling with fury; what would he have done is Charley had peached?

The two pickpockets looked at one another and shrugged. How had Fagin found out? Maybe he knew everything, as he was constantly reminding them.

"Give it a rest Fagin, will ya?" snapped Nancy, shooting an angry look in the man's direction. "Charley just escaped from the lockup for gawd's sake and Dodger's had enough guilt piled on 'im to last a lifetime-yes I know all about you an' Bill's raid last night Dodge!"

Dodger scowled. He'd been hoping to impress Nancy with that piece of information, not mentioning, of course, that he'd mucked everything up.

Fagin sighed wearily and rubbed his temples, muttering something under his breath that sounded like "Women…"

Nancy giggled.

"You an' the boys wanna come in for a drink then?" she asked, her good humour returned.

Fagin too seemed happier now both his prime pickpockets were back and unharmed. "No thank you Nancy, my dear," he replied with a wry smile. "We have enough gin at our humble abode!"

"HA!" cried Nancy. "With you lot enough gin is never enough gin! Come on in lads, 'ave a drink on the 'ouse!"

"If you insist!" Fagin said with a cackle, following Nancy inside the pub. Dodger and Charley looked at each other, pleased and a little bewildered, before following suit.

While Nancy sallied off to fetch the drinks, Fagin, Dodger and Charley sat down; Fagin and Dodger now expressing their delight at the safe return of their comrade.

Nancy joined them a few minutes later, balancing a tray of gin. She handed a glass each to the three and they toasted Charley's escape.

About twenty minutes later, after two more glasses of spirit each, the merry company was joined by one Bill Sykes, his dog as ever at his heels. He wordlessly took Nancy's glass from her hand and drained it, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Nancy rolled her eyes but was careful to make sure Bill didn't see.

"You shouldn't be drinkin', Nance!" Bill snapped. "You should be at 'ome preparin' my supper!"

Nancy turned visibly pale underneath her makeup. What with the Charley business she hadn't even got the food she would need to make supper with!

"I…I'm sorry Bill!" she stammered, her usual confidence quite drained. "I'll go fix your supper now, shall I?"

"You do that, my girl," snarled Bill, without a trace of affection. "Or I'll make that pretty face of yours unrecognizable."

Nancy nodded and got to her feet, moving to kiss Bill goodbye. She thought better of it when she saw the look on his face. Turning around again she hurried from the pub, pulling her shawl closer around her as she did so.

"Stupid woman!" growled Bill. "If there were a stauncher gal goin' I would've slit 'er throat by now…" He then appeared to remember that Fagin, Dodger and Charley were there for his face softened to its usual degree of malice. "I'm goin' on another raid tonight," he informed them. "An' this time I'm goin' alone!" He glared at Dodger as he said this and Dodger cowered away from him as far as his chair would allow. "I want a good sum for the stuff I'll be pinchin' Fagin, gawd knows I deserve it!"

"As you say Bill, my dear…" Fagin replied, his voice trembling a little. "I'll give you a nice wad of cash, all right?"

Bill said nothing; he got up from the table, kicked the dog for good measure, shot the group one last poisonous look and stalked away.

"Well then boys," said Fagin, glancing nervously around to check that Sykes wasn't in earshot. "Let's go home."

--

A/N: Sorry this took me so long! –head desk- Just one more chapter to go (all I wrote at summer camp anyway). =(

Ideas, plot lines, inspiration? Send them my way; I'd dearly love to continue this fanfiction. ^^

Also, I know another author here used the Charley is rescued by Nancy plotline; I did not pinch it from him/her (can't recall their name; apologies!). As I said in the prologue, some of my plotlines in this fic were modified from the book. Please don't flame me!

Thank you those who've reviewed, it's much appreciated! =)


	5. Better Pray I Don't Murder You First

Chapter Four – "You'd better pray I don't murder you first!"

Nancy, having prepared Bill's supper, was attempting to make Sykes' residence look a little more tidy. The kitchen, with its small table, minute stove, two cupboards full of spirit bottles and three worn chairs also served as the living room, with a tattered old armchair in the corner. This armchair belonged to Bill and nobody sat in it except Bill. There were consequences for doing such things, and Nancy knew them well.

The second (and last) room of Sykes' flat was the bedroom; a medium sized room which contained naught but a double bed and a fireplace. Bare furnishings, true, but Bill still managed to be terribly untidy. Nancy disliked it but she never brought it up for fear of another beating. Bill got angry with her over the most trifling matters; was it really her business what a state his house was in?

The dog began to bark suddenly, heralding the arrival of its master. This sudden burst of noise in the near silent flat startled Nancy so that she dropped the glass she'd been cleaning, causing it to break into pieces all over the floor. Bill chose this moment to open the door, with a swift kick he silenced the dog and then stalked towards Nancy.

"Careful Bill!" the terrified girl warned, in a voice barely more than a whisper. "There's broken-"

"I know there's broken glass woman! I ain't blind! Clean it up, you clumsy wretch!"

"Yes Bill, sorry Bill…" said Nancy quickly, sweeping up the glass with her bare hands for lack of a broom.

"Never mind yer 'sorry Bill's! Get me some gin, woman!"

Scrambling to her feet, Nancy did so, although it was no easy feet as she was trembling from head to toe. Having supplied Sykes with his drink she sat down in the chair opposite him, averting her eyes for fear of more verbal abuse.

"What you starin' at nuffink for?" snapped Bill, draining his glass of gin in a matter of moments.

There was no reply from Nancy, she felt frozen in place, too scared to answer…Bill hadn't been in this foul a temper for ages…

"Answer me!" the housebreaker shouted, pounding the table with his fist.

Still no answer.

Enraged, Bill leapt to his feet. Nancy, guessing what was coming, leapt up too.

Stupid….stupid…

Before Nancy could even attempt to escape, Bill had her by the hair, nails digging into her scalp. She shrieked and tried to beat him off, he threw her to the floor. Nancy crawled hurriedly backwards away from him, pleading with him to stop, cowering against the wall.

Bill, seeming to calm down somewhat, gave Nancy a kick for good measure before storming out of the room to go on his next burglary, slamming the door behind him.

Nancy sat up, shaking uncontrollably. Brushing her hair from her face she stood up, gingerly in case she'd broken something. This wouldn't be the first time.

No, nothing broken. Not this time.

'I was lucky…' she thought to herself as she cleared Bill's plate. 'It could've been worse…why didn't I answer 'im? 'Cos I wos scared…But if I'm so scared, why do I stay with 'im? Why do I still love 'im?' She cursed; cursed her stupidity, her situation, her miserable existence. Bill was the only thing that kept her sane; wasn't he? 'Because he needs me! Bill needs me, I know that! And as long as 'e does, I'll stand by 'im…As long as he needs me…'

Nancy sank to the floor and started to cry.

--

Dodger and Charley had long been asleep and Fagin was snoozing in his armchair when there was a rap on the door. Fagin jolted awake and scurried to answer it. It was none other than Sykes, returned from his latest housebreaking.

"I didn't expect to see you here at this time, my dear!" Fagin said with a yawn. "We was all sleeping!"

"Your sleep don't matter to me Fagin," admonished Sykes. "Wot matters to me is my cash! So, 'ere!"

He threw the burlap sack he'd been carrying onto the ground where, upon impact, its valuable contents split noisily all over the floor.

"Careful Bill, careful!" hissed Fagin. "We don't wanna wake the lads do we, my dear?" He bent down to examine Bill's loot and gave a long, low whistle. "Quite the professional, aren't you my dear?" he said proudly, examining a jewelery box inlaid with mother of pearl.

"Shurrup Fagin an' gimmee my money!" growled the burglar. "An' get me some gin while yer at it!"

"The spirit I can get you, my dear," Fagin said, getting to his feet. "But I'm afraid I can't give you your money just yet…I have to tot all this up, my dear, figure out what it's worth! You can get your money in the mor-"

Fagin's speech was abruptly cut off as Bill seized him by the throat and nearly lifted him off his feet.

"You think I risk the drop just to 'ear you say I can't get rewardin' for it?!" cried Sykes.

Fagin said nothing, he was finding it hard to breathe let alone speak.

"I'll get my cash one way or the other!" shouted Sykes. "An' you'd better pray I don't murder you first!"

"Alright…Bill…my dear!" wheezed Fagin, but Bill tightened his grip so the old man could say no more.

"I'll send Nancy round the morrow to get the cash, an' I'm warnin' you Fagin, there'd better be a lot of it!"

Thus, the housebreaker let go of Fagin's neck; the older man falling in a crumpled heap on the floor, a red mark appearing where Sykes' hands had been. He struggled to his feet, rubbing his neck and then, with a cough in an attempt to regain proper use of his throat, scuttled over to where he kept the drinks.

"So, my dear," he rasped, pouring a measure of clear liquid for the burglar. "How about that gin, eh?"

--

A/N: My last chapter from summer camp! =(

**PLEASE **send me ideas and suggestions for how to continue, as I don't want to leave it hanging like that. That would be mean and nasty of me, no?

Thanks again to my dear reviewer _BrokenAmethyst_; please R&R my dears, I don't bite! =)


	6. Money, Money, Money

Chapter Five – Money, Money, Money

Daybreak.

The light poured in at every chink and keyhole, heralding the arrival of a new morning.

Nancy heaved herself from the bed, expertly extricating herself from Bill's slumbering grip. He was dead to the world; he must've drunk quite a bit at Fagin's last night, Nancy thought. Even though Bill only put up with Fagin for his money and Fagin was terrified of Bill the two saw eye to eye when it came to spirits.

The girl hummed to herself as she began preparing Bill's breakfast. She'd managed to cheer herself up a little after last night; it had happened before, it would happen again. No point in being all melodramatic.

However, no amount of humming, clanking and clashing of pans on the stove, even the whines of the dog as he waited for /his/ breakfast; nothing would wake Bill up.

But he had to get up sometime.

Nancy moved Bill's food from the pan to a plate, giving the bacon rinds to the dog who munched them up with great aplomb. She dithered a minute, not sure of Bill would take kindly to being awoken but deciding not to let her efforts go to waste.

"Bill?" she called, loud as she dared, moving from the kitchen to the bedroom. "Bill, your breakfast's ready!"

Bill stirred and opened one bleary bloodshot eye.

"Oh, for Gawd's sake…"

"Alright," said Nancy with a sigh. "Warm it up for your supper." She turned to leave the room and clean away the breakfast things when Bill called her back.

"Go round to Fagin's an' get the cash, will ya?"

"Alright." Why couldn't he do that himself? Oh yes, because he was a-bed flippin' drunk.

She returned to the kitchen and began cleaning the pots and pans she'd used; a little louder than she probably should have…

"NANCY! I AM TRYIN' TO SLEEP!"

Nancy laughed inwardly. He'd had sleep enough last night, hadn't he? Evidently not.

She returned to the bedroom to fetch her shawl and basket; who knew if there'd be some food worth pinching on the way to Fagin's? Bill ate enough to warrant that.

She scolded herself. Enough bad thoughts about Bill. Could he help it if he was fond of the drink? No, he couldn't. To try and justify forgiveness for her negative opinions towards him, she dared to ask the now half-asleep housebreaker a question.

"Bill? You do love me don'cha?"

Bill managed to struggle into a sitting position and answer the question, before flopping down onto the bed once more for a well earned sleep.

"Of course I do; I live with ya don't I?"

Nancy grinned, pleased, and hurried off to Fagin's den.

--

Fagin was huddled over the fire, busily toasting bread. A plate of it sat on the table which was being rapidly devoured by the old gentleman's young charges. But no matter. _This_ piece was his.

He snatched the bread off the toasting fork, careful not to burn his fingertips. He was just about to take a bite, when:

"Tha' bit's fer me, ain't it Fagin?"

The piping hot toast was snatched from his hand by none other than the Artful Dodger himself.

Fagin scowled with displeasure and mimed throwing the toasting fork at the retreating Dodger's back.

"Eat, eat, eat, eat!" he muttered derisively to himself. "Appetite!"

He was interrupted in his grumbling by the arrival of Nancy, who began handing out sweets to the boys that clambered about her as soon as she set foot in the door. Nance was like a mother to them where Fagin was the grandfather figure.

Once all the sweets had been snatched by sticky hands, Nancy managed to escape the crush of lads all eager for her attention (and more treats) to try and reach Fagin, who was by now toasting another slice of bread (and burning it).

"Mornin' Fagin!" she called to him, brightly.

Fagin grumbled something nondescript about 'flippin' toast' by means of a reply.

"Mmmhmm…if you say so!" Nancy sat herself down on the tabletop where she soon found the Artful Dodger sitting beside her.

"'Ello Nance! 'Ow's tricks?" he asked her with his signature cheeky grin.

"Awright, thanks Dodge," Nancy replied. "Is Charley alright after yesterday an' everythin'?"

Dodger seemed unconcerned. "Charley? Oh yeah, yeah, Charley's jus' fine!" In truth, the young pickpocket seemed more preoccupied with winning Nancy's affections and Nancy noticed, though she didn't show it.

"I'm glad to 'ear that Dodge!" she replied, giving him a one armed hug. "You take good care of 'im for me, alright?"

Dodger turned red and nodded vigorously.

Nancy smiled at him and hopped off the table, making her way over to Fagin once again.

"Fagin, I'm waitin'!" she warned.

"Waiting, my dear? What for?" Fagin was halfway through his second piece of toast, his scraggly beard liberally sprinkled with crumbs.

"Bill'll give you what for if you don't fork out! Now come on, 'and over, start countin'!" She held out her hand with a wry smile in the old man's direction.

Dodger chuckled.

Fagin crammed the rest of his toast into his mouth, glared at Dodger and then began fumbling in his pocket to find his money pouch, stalling for time.

"You and your Bill, you'll be the ruin of me between ya!" Fagin growled, finally extracting the pouch and plucking five coins from its interior. He handed them to Nancy and then made to replace the bag in his coat pocket.

Nancy frowned good-naturedly. "Bill might think the count is a bit short, wouldn't ya say?"

Fagin groaned at being found out, which made Dodger chuckle more. This situation was one that often happened when Bill made Nancy come and get his cash for him and it was very funny to watch. Nancy always knew how to twist Fagin round her finger.

"Here…take it…I'll starve…" hissed Fagin, passing Nancy five more coins. "You'll find me lyin' in a gutter with me feet stickin' up in the air!"

Nancy giggled. "He still might. Come on."

Fagin's left eye twitched.

"So. Me an' the boys; we're gonna be livin' on air until Bill's next raid, eh?"

"I wouldn't mind that!" Dodger piped up, beaming at Nancy. "Air's good for ya, ain't it?"

Nancy pushed Dodger's hat off his head playfully. "That's right Dodge," she said, as Fagin reluctantly handed her three more of his precious coins. "Time you an' the others were off to work, ain't it?"

Dodger grinned and bowed low, picking up his hat and replacing it on his head in the same movement.

"Certainly me lady!" he said in a mock aristocratic fashion. "Whatever you say!"

Nancy grinned and took Dodger's arm. "Would you be so kind as to escort me home, Sir Artful?"

Dodger had never looked quite so pleased as he did just then.

--

**A/N:** Some Dodger/Nancy fluff there for my dear reviewer Katarina Sparrow 19! XD

Fear not, I shall be writing much more ('twas Miss Sparrow who inspired me with plot ideas; thank'ee!)

Once again, my dears, please R&R! =) I'll give you virtual gruel! ^^


	7. A Secret Revealed

Chapter Six – A Secret Revealed

Nancy and Dodger were halfway back to the Sykes' residence; Dodger chattering nineteen to the dozen, Nancy laughing and talking along with him. It was then she realized that she'd left Fagin's without her shawl. Since she didn't particularly want to catch a cold and figured Bill could fix his own lunch, she decided to head back the way she'd come; the Artful was only too happy to spend more time with her.

However, once they reached the attic, entering unbidden as they always did, a sight met their eyes that they hadn't expected to see.

Fagin was sitting at the table, a small wooden box before him. As they watched from the doorway they saw him picking up and replacing various items from within the box; a pocketwatch, a string of pearls, a couple of jeweled brooches… The old man didn't seem to have noticed their arrival, and they could hear him muttering to himself…

"Fine fellows!" he crowed, his voice a mixture of sing-song and whisper. "Fine, fine fellows! Clever dogs, clever dogs!" He paused, fingering a particularly ornate gold ring and chuckling like a man possessed. "Can I 'elp it?" he asked, seemingly to himself. "My little pleasure, my little treasure, all I've got to live on in me old age…" His voice was sombre now as he set the trinket down. "Terrible thing…old age."

Nancy and Dodger glanced at each other, bewildered. What was this? Neither of them knew about Fagin's treasure, not that the man himself would have wanted them to. The small box was his private collection of stolen gems, not for prying eyes…until today.

Several things happened all at once. Fagin looked up from his box, his ferret eyes narrowing as he caught sight of the pair of them standing awkwardly in the doorway. His expression hovered between fury, shock and fear as he slammed down the lid, grabbed the breadknife (it had been lying on the table since that morning's breakfast) and started towards them.

'WHY ARE YOU WATCHING ME? WHAT DID YOU SEE? SPEAK OUT OR IT'S YOUR LIVES!"

Both Nancy and Dodger were too shocked and scared to run; frozen in the doorway like statues. What on Earth was going on? Why did Fagin have a box of treasure and why was he brandishing a now rather brutal looking breadknife in their direction?

"SPEAK!" hollered the old man, the knife trembling in his withered hand.

Nancy somehow found the strength to move again. Maybe it was all these years of being threatened by Bill. She hurried forwards and managed to snatch the weapon from Fagin's weak grip, casting it aside. In truth, the man didn't put up much of a fight. She then, with strength unknown to even her, managed to steer a still babbling Fagin into a chair, trying to calm him down.

"We hardly saw a thing Fagin, honest!" she lied. "Just a couple brooches!"

Fagin seemed to have calmed down somewhat, but his face was pale and his eyes slightly unfocused with what remained of his rage.

"Did you…did you see where I fetched the box from?" he wheezed, his eyes quickly darting to where it sat; a pocketwatch chain dangling out of it where the lid had been slammed down in haste.

"N-no," Dodger replied, moving towards the pair; Fagin huddled on a chair, Nancy crouched beside him. "We didn' see tha'…"

"Good…" muttered Fagin. "Good, good…"

Dodger chose that moment to be tactless.

"What're you doin' wiv a box of treasure anyway, eh Fagin?" he asked, all innocence. "Why didn' you tell us?"

If looks could kill… Both Fagin and Nancy glared at Dodger so fiercely it was wonder he didn't die at least a thousand times over.

Dodger cringed.

"Jus' curious! You've 'ad this box for 'ow long an' you never let any of us know!"

"That's the point, Dodge!" snapped Nancy. "It was supposed to be a secret!"

"You're in on it too?" said Dodger, confused. "Fagin, 'owcome Nancy knows about your secret stash of stuff an' I don't?"

Fagin's hands curled into fists. "Nancy didn't know…" he hissed. "Nobody knew! That's my private treasure! Mine!"

Nancy flinched at the harshness of Fagin's tone. He'd kept a secret box of priceless items all these years; for what purpose? Did he hope to sell them off at some point? Were they items he himself had stolen in his youth? She couldn't fathom it, and it didn't seem as though Fagin was about to tell them.

The old man abruptly got out of the chair and scuttled over the box. He secured the lid more firmly than ever before placing it inside one of his many pockets, seeming to have forgotten, albeit momentarily, that Nancy and Dodger were there. When he looked back up at them again; Nancy still crouched beside the now vacated chair, biting her lip anxiously, Dodger rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet looking shamefaced, his harsh expression had softened somewhat.

"I…I want to apologize, my dears…" he stammered, trying to get the words out. "It-my treasure-it's been a secret for so long…you gave me quite a fright, my dears…I never expected anyone to find out, not so soon at least…"

Dodger was tempted to say something about the timing not being 'soon' after Fagin had kept the box for years but decided, on this occasion, to keep his trap shut.

"We're sorry Fagin," Nancy said, getting to her feet. "We didn't mean to walk in on you like that…"

"But how were you to know, my dears?" said Fagin with a small smile. "It wasn't as if I would tell you, what with it being secret an' all."

There was a pause in which Nancy snatched up her shawl quickly from the floor, where she must have dropped it earlier. Dodger stuffed his hands in his pockets; all business.

"You won't…tell anyone about this, will you my dears?" Fagin asked, his tone now both humble and guilty. He hadn't wanted to frighten them, but that plan hadn't been so successful…

Both Nancy and Dodger promised that they wouldn't; even Dodger who could be a joker at the best of times was sincere.

Just then the threesome heard a clamour of voices from outside, indicating that the boys had returned from the morning's pickpocketing. Nancy smiled and nodded to Fagin, making a hurried exit. Dodger moved to lay on his makeshift bed, to think things over.

Although the swarm of chattering and shouting lads soon barged into the loft, Dodger kept an eye on Fagin out of the corner of his eye. He watched the old man welcome the boys back; his usual cheerful demeanor somewhat strained. Once the boys were distracted with their various pursuits, he watched as Fagin hurriedly hid the small treasure box underneath its floorboard.

Dodger grinned.

Who said promises weren't to be broken?

**AN:** Ooh, that was an exciting chapter (I hope!). A small plot appears to be emerging, no? Will Dodger reveal Fagin's secret? =o I'm trying to make everything correlate somewhat; this chapter relates to the prologue in which the respectable gent was examining his box of pretty things.

Once again, many thanks to my dear reviewers! -gives you virtual gruel, peaches and cream- =)

Please R&R my dears; I don't bite, I give away free food! ^^


	8. The Truth Learnt

Chapter Seven – The Truth Is Learnt

Dodger awoke to the sound of raised voices. Curious, he did not rise from his bed but lay there still, pretending to be asleep. Bill was here, it was obvious. He was the one doing all the shouting.

"Wot's this I 'eard Fagin?"

"What's what, my dear?"

Fagin sounded a little on edge, nervous and tense. No wonder. Bill didn't sound as if he was in the mood for tea and crumpets.

"Don't you play mind games wiv me you avaricious old skeleton!"

"Fagin, I wouldn' 'ave, honest!" It was Nancy who spoke next, her voice quavering with fear. "I promised I wouldn' but B-"

"Shut it Nance, I'm warnin' ya!"

"Now Bill, there's no need for th-"

"Where is it Fagin?"

Fagin again tried to feign innocence. "Where's wh-"

"The box Fagin! Where's tha' flippin' box of yours, eh?"

Oh no. Bill must have forced Nancy to tell him about Fagin's treasure, at least, that's how it sounded. Nancy must've looked as if she knew something; Bill tended to notice when people did that and then try and figure out what they were hiding from him. In this case, the treasure Fagin had hoarded for years!

Then, Dodger had an idea. He didn't particularly like the idea of Bill getting his hands on Fagin's treasure; even though he sometimes harboured a dislike for Fagin for various reasons he didn't dislike him so much that the man would have his private treasure taken from him.

Quietly as he could, Dodger snuck from his bed and crept towards the floorboard where Fagin had placed the treasure earlier that day. Luckily for him, Fagin was trying to stall.

"W-Why do you want to know th-that B-Bill, it's n-none of your business!"

"None of my business eh? I'll show you what's 'none of my business'!"

The sound of heavy footfalls as Bill started towards Fagin; Dodger knew he would have only seconds…He lifted the floorboard, glad its slight creak couldn't be heard of the sound of Bill's yells, grabbed the treasure box and darted back to his bed…not a second too soon.

Mere moments after he covered himself with his blanket once more, Dodger heard Bill's frenzied breathing as he began ransacking the place to try and find Fagin's box. Dodger risked cracking open his eyes to look, just in time to see Fagin grabbing Bill's arm in an attempt to restrain him and Bill throwing Fagin to the floor. Nancy shouted a furious curse at Bill, her former fear seemingly gone in the face of adversary, and she tried to help Fagin to his feet.

"I ain't gonna ask yer again!" snarled Sykes, now bearing down upon the pair of them. "Where's tha' box?"

Fagin's shoulders slumped, his expression defeated. It was clear that Bill wasn't going to let the subject go, and, Fagin reasoned, why should he? He'd never revealed any hint of owning a small box of treasure, and Bill was the sort of person who didn't like secrets being kept from him…

"It's-it's over here, my dear…"

Fagin scuttled over to the floorboard, kneeling down and scrabbling to prize it off with his knarled fingers. Bill lumbered over to see the box but Nancy stayed back, hanging her head with shame and guilt. Poor Fagin…what had she done?

Dodger closed his eyes as the floorboard parted company with the floor. True he had saved Fagin from having to hand over the box, but how would the old man react when he found his treasure gone? Dodger couldn't help thinking how relatively peaceful and normal things had been before he and Nance accidentally discovered Fagin's box…

"Wh-what?" Fagin sounded horrorstruck and as well he might!

Dodger winced at the sound of his voice; he sounded so scared, horrified, dumbstruck…

"Where is it Fagin? Is this some kinda trick?"

"N-no B-Bill…it was always here…I s-swear I 'id it there only this mornin'…" Fagin didn't know what else to say. By all accounts, the box should have been there. None of the boys knew about this; no-one except him, Bill, Nancy and…

"Dodger!" hissed Fagin.

"Wot?" growled Sykes, his voice rising again as he grew steadily more frustrated. "Wot do ya mean, you treacherous old turncoat?"

It took Fagin a moment to reply; he was doubtless trying to figure out how Dodger could have got to his precious box; he'd had no idea where it was hidden…had he?

"Dodger…" Fagin whispered hoarsely. "Dodger has my box…"

**A/N:** Sorry for the shortness, I hope the drama makes up for it! XD

What will happen next? Leave me reviews and I might be so inclined as to tell you! =P


	9. No Violence!

Chapter Eight – "No Violence!"

Dodger froze. This wasn't good. How had Fagin figured it out so quickly and why-

Before Dodger could even attempt to piece together the worried fragments of his thoughts he felt himself being pulled from his blankets in an iron grip. He didn't attempt to wriggle free, what was the point? There was nowhere to run.

"Where did you put my box, Dodger?" hissed a now frantic Fagin. "Where is it? What have you done?"

Dodger was surprised to find that it was Fagin gripping his arms and not Bill. The old man was strong in his fury and did not relinquish his grasp until Bill stepped forwards and pushed him out of the way once again.

Dodger swallowed, trying desperately to find the words to say, or indeed the strength to say them. He saw Nancy looking at him with a petrified expression on her face; Fagin continued to look at him with a mixture of anger and fear.

"I…I…" Dodger stammered. Should he lie and tell them he had no idea what they were talking about? But wouldn't that get Nancy into trouble with Bill? But if he handed the box over just like that, what would happen to Fagin? What should he do? What could he do?

Smacking Bill Sykes across the face hadn't been on Dodger's list of ideas, but he hit him anyway.

The burglar reeled back in shock, his mouth agape. Dodger took the opportunity to try and run, heading for the door of Fagin's loft. He could stay at the pub for the night and sneak back to Fagin's when this had all blown over, couldn't he?

Not a chance.

In seconds, Bill had seized Dodger from behind, Fagin's box slipped from Dodger's inside pocket and fell to the ground, scattering its contents on impact. Fagin pounced and tried to collect it all together again, his expression now one of frenzied excitement at regaining possession of his treasures, but the other three didn't seem to notice.

"Bill! Leave 'im alone!"

Nancy leapt at the struggling pair and tried to loosen Bill's grip on Dodger but to no avail. Dodger was still struggling and squirming to be free but Bill's grip was stronger by far than Nancy's. The housebreaker aimed a kick at Nancy to try and make her let go of him, she stumbled backwards. Dodger kicked Bill hard as he could in return and managed to break free at last as his captor reeled away with a yell of pain.

Fagin, meanwhile, had collected his jewels and hidden them under another unstable floorboard. He now felt it was time to intervene; now his precious box was no longer the centre of attention, safe once more.

"Now, now my dears!" he said, laying a hand on Bill's shoulder as he made to leap at Dodger again. "No violence, my dears! No violence!"

"Easy for you to say, Fagin!" snarled Bill and Dodger took an involuntary step backwards; Nancy quickly coming to stand at his side.

"Fagin's right Bill!" she said fiercely. "Dodger did nothing wrong! Leave 'im be!"

Fagin chuckled, relieved that the drama seemed to be over.

"Nancy's right, my dear. Women usually are."

Nancy raised an eyebrow and Bill glowered.

"Now then," said Fagin, his usual demeanor returned to him at last. "How's about some gin, eh my dears?"

Bill was about to respond when Nancy placed a restraining hand on his arm.

"No thank you Fagin," she said pointedly. Bill had had quite enough gin last night and he was still in quite a temper. No need to rekindle that particular fire.

Bill shot Nancy a look and wrenched his arm free.

"You may not want some gin, my girl; tha' don't me to say I don't, does it?"

Nancy cringed away from him, feeling a sudden guilt for her abuse of authority. What power did she have?

"Go 'ome Nance," Bill said, his tone final. "Me an' Fagin 'ave matters of business to discuss."

That was in fact true, and Nancy knew so. She nodded meekly and turned to leave, giving Dodger a quick hug before she swept from the attic, her thin shawl tight about her frail person. Ordinarily, Dodger would have been thrilled at this gesture but now all he felt was an overwhelming pity.

He made his way listlessly back to his bed and huddled under the covers, trying to warm himself up a little and get to sleep. The night's occurrences whirled around in his mind; Fagin's frenzy and panic, Bill's brutal strength, Nancy's terrified face…

The low murmuring of Fagin and his old protégé soon lulled the Artful Dodger to sleep; but dreams of terror and pain haunted his night.

**A/N:** Shortness again! –head desk-

Ah well, hopefully the rest of this story will be longer; I have more exciting plot twists on the way and in the works! Keep your eyes peeled! =)

I hope this chapter lived up to people's expectations; once again, please R&R! I'll give you virtual gruel, peaches and cream AND Fagin's Own Home-Cooked Non-Mouldy Sausages!

Now that's an offer you can't refuse! XD


	10. Cracking The Crib

Chapter Nine – Cracking The Crib

The next day passed without incident; Bill didn't stop by Fagin's again and seemed to have forgotten all about his box, while Dodger managed to swipe a couple of well-lined wallets, raising Fagin's spirits all the more.

Night soon fell, blanketing London in a shroud of darkness. The streetlamps cast an eerie glow across the darkened streets but Bill Sykes was not a man to be frightened by shadows. With his dog, Bulls-Eye, at his heels and his jimmy in his hand, what did he have to fear?

He stole across the street to tonight's house with the stealth and confidence of many years experience in this field. The house was relatively large; detached and whitewashed, with a splendid balcony overlooking the nearby park.

Despite its size, this house was as simple to sneak into as any other; much easier than the raid he'd attempted with Dodger only a few days ago. The window into the larder to the rear of the building was large enough to comfortably accommodate a small hackney cab, so it was the work of a moment for Bill to gain entry. Bulls-Eye remained outside, skulking about in case of guard dogs, his ears pricked.

Once Sykes entered the hallway, leaving the larder door open behind him in case of the need of a swift exit, he began to scan it for items of worth. He managed to procure a pair of silver candlesticks and an ornate mantlepiece clock, quickly stuffing them into the carefully concealed pockets of his coat.

Things were going well.

He proceeded to the drawing room, nothing much there save for two grand displays of tea sets. They sold well, for reasons Bill didn't know or particularly care about, so he swiped them both, along with a couple of ornaments adorning the windowsill. Ugly looking things, true, but they'd probably fetch a hefty price.

Now for the upper floors of the house. Rich folk always kept their cash and their jewels close to their person, so the bedrooms were generally a good place for rich pickings, provided one was especially careful. And Bill Sykes was one such man.

The entire raid was going flawlessly; easy entry, lots of loot before even reaching the staircase…but alas, the rest of the night didn't go so well. Bill should have guessed something was going to happen; breaking and entering other people's homes was usually much more difficult than this…

A frenzied barking suddenly began just outside the larder window; the sudden sound was enough to make Bill start. What the- why was that blasted dog barking now? He'd wake the house up!

Sure enough, panicked voices and shouts could soon be heard from upstairs. Bill hastily retreated from the staircase, silently cursing his bad luck. When he got his hands on that dog…

"There! There he is!"

The occupants of the house, clad in their nightclothes, lit candles in hands, were huddled at the top of the stairs; the man in front gripping a pistol in one shaking hand.

Bill needed no further motivation. He ran as fast as he could to the larder, stumbling once or twice over his own feet in his haste. How could he have let this happen?

No time to dwell on the matter, he could hear the household pursuing him, one man shouting at another to hurry up and shoot; the man did as he was bid and his aim was off by inches…

Bill hurled himself out of the open larder window and started to run, Bull's-Eye still barking, hot on his heels.

Another gunshot shattered the stillness of the night. Out of the corner of his eye, Bill noticed another man, a copper, running towards them. He ran faster, his heart hammering, the dog continuing to bark and growl as the policeman drew nearer.

"You! You there! Stop! I command you as an officer of the law-"

Bill ignored him and continued to run, the house now far behind as he and Bulls-Eye entered their more familiar alleyways. The new surroundings didn't do a thing to deter the policeman however…he was getting closer by the second and Bill wasn't sure he could run much longer…

Yet another gunshot, this time from the barrel of the copper's own pistol. It made its mark and Bill stumbled, the pain nearly blinding him. He gritted his teeth and tried to run on, attempting the stem the blood now flowing from his arm with his free hand.

But it was no use.

His own frenzied breathing and the yelps of the dog were the last things Sykes heard as he fell into darkness.

--

**A/N:** I'm so nasty; another cliffhanger! =o

At least it promises you that I'll be writing more! XD

If you're interested, the title of this chapter is slang for breaking into a house. Thank you 'Horrible Histories' books! I've learnt so much from reading them. =P


	11. Darkness Before Dawn

Chapter Ten – Darkness Before Dawn

Fagin sat at the table, a half empty gin bottle beside him. He was near falling asleep; the candlelight hurt his tired eyes. Bill should have been back by now…

Nancy tried to sleep, but found it impossible. She knew Bill would come back, he always did… But what if something had gone wrong? What if he got caught?

--

Despite the darkness that clouded his vision and made his head throb, Bill was not without his hearing. He could still hear Bull's-Eye, growling ferociously and yapping loud enough to wake the dead. With a great effort, Bill managed to open his eyes.

For a moment, he wished he hadn't.

He was lying face down on the dirty cobblestones which were now flecked with blood. The metallic stench of it was overpowering but the burglar forced himself to keep his eyes open. What had just happened? Where was that d*** copper?

He struggled to turn his head, to see where the policeman had gone. There he was, bobby on the beat, backing away from a ferocious, growling dog. None other than Bull's-Eye!

Bill would have grinned but now was neither the time nor the place. Instead he endeavored to get to his feet, wincing and gritting his teeth with each small movement. The pain in his arm felt as though it had doubled while he was unconscious.

Unfortunately, as if Bill Sykes hadn't had his fill of bad luck that night, Bull's-Eye wasn't sufficiently distracting that the policeman ignored the robber's staggering to his feet. He began advancing on Bill again and, at last, Bull's-Eye struck.

He leapt at the policeman, sinking his teeth into the man's gun hand. The pistol clattered to the cobblestones as the policeman cried out in pain and fell to his knees. The dog let go, giving the now profusely bleeding man the canine version of a malicious grin.

Bill tried to call for the dog, they had to escape /now/, while they still could, but his throat felt as if he had swallowed granite. Instead he merely stumbled on through the murky alleyways, Bull's-Eye trotting at his heels, the whimpers and moans of the policeman fading into the distance.

How on Earth had they managed to escape? It had happened, all of it, he knew, the pain in his arm was real enough to remind him of that. And yet the whole expedition seemed surreal; he could still feel the weight of the various bits and bobs he'd plundered from the rich folk's house nestled inside his coat, he could still feel the white hot pain from when the policeman shot him, the piercing cold of the night air.

They were almost home now; the darkness fading as dawn crept in. How long had it been since he'd left on his raid? Two hours? Three? What would Fagin think, what would Nancy think? Would they think he'd gotten caught?

They'd better not…Bill Sykes never got caught. Never.

--

Bill was unsure how he found the strength to wrench open the door and stumble up the stairs but he somehow managed it. He could feel the darkness, the relief from the pain, at the corners of his vision. What wouldn't he give to slip into unconsciousness…

"Bill? BILL!"

It was Nancy. Her eyes were red and bloodshot, her hair a tangle from the countless times she'd run her hands through it, her face caked with dried tears. She ran to meet him in the doorway, engulfing him in a fierce embrace.

"Bill, what happened? I thought…I thought…"

Tears welled up in the girl's eyes and she trembled and sobbed. Bill looked down at her, his face showing revulsion, pain, anger…a shred of pity? If there had been that, it was gone in an instant.

"You thought wot?" growled Sykes, trying to extricate himself from the girl's grip but in vain. Her hold was too strong and he, for the first time, he was too weak.

"I thought you'd got caught, Bill!" cried Nancy in anguish. "I thought you would never come back, I thought you'd be 'ung!" She was crying again now, her voice constricted with sobs.

Bill winced slightly at her words. If only she knew how close he'd come to the gallows tonight.

"You… you thought wrong then, didn't ya?"

He managed to push her away, groaning as the movement took its toll on his arm. Nancy noticed this and gave a startled scream.

"Bill! What…what…"

Bill shook his head and collapsed into his armchair, closing his eyes to try and blot out the pain. Nancy flitted about, trying to find some medicine in a grubby glass jar, a strip of cloth to bandage the wound, anything!

"Nance?"

"What is it Bill?" Her voice was anxious, tremulous with worry and fear.

"Get me some gin an' be quick about it."

**A/N:** Sorry this took me so long!

Bill's safe and sound…or so it would seem…

Not a cliffhanger this time (that's good, eh?) but I have, as they say, much more where that came from!

Hope you enjoyed this chapter; I hope it's not too cliché. Maybe I'll have him get caught in a later chapter…'Wanted: Bill Sykes & a Fierce Dog', yes? XD


	12. Fagin's Bedside Manner

Chapter Eleven – Fagin's Bedside Manner

"And how are you, my dear?"

Early the next morning. Fagin had arrived unexpectedly to see if Bill had made it back. Once Nancy had explained his condition to the visitor in hushed tones (Bill was finally asleep), Fagin had hobbled off again, returning a few minutes later with an assortment of vials and jars, claiming that they had medicinal qualities. Nancy had reluctantly let him re-enter the flat whereupon Fagin had began attempting to 'cure' Bill's injury with one of his many herbal remedies. Needless to say, this being one of Fagin's medicines, it stung and jolted Bill awake; he was now bolt upright in bed, glaring daggers at the offending party.

Fagin repeated the question.

"All the better if you'd leave me alone!" snarled Bill, attempting to wrench his arm from Fagin's clutching fingers, gritting his teeth. If anything, Fagin's cures thus far had only made it worse.

"Hush, hush, my dear!" snapped Fagin with a roll of his eyes, applying some more of the mysterious powder and causing Bill to wince in pain. "You're an invalid, you're supposed to lie still and keep your trap shut!"

Bill glowered.

"You would say tha', wouldn't you Fagin? You wouldn't be speakin' so brave if I wosn't stuck 'ere unable to lift a finger against ya!"

Fagin chuckled, sealed the lid on one jar and prized the cap off another. "Your words ring true, my dear, but would you deny me this small pleasure?"

Bill made a guttural sound at the back of his throat, sinking back onto the pillows in a vain attempt to make himself more comfortable. Whatever the old fence was up to, it hurt. Bill wasn't used to pain and he couldn't say that he liked it.

"What happened last night, my dear? How come this happened to you? You, Bill Sykes, of all my acquaintances!"

Bill made another growling sound and closed his eyes. Why should he tell Fagin that? Why should he humiliate himself further; wasn't it bad enough that he was stuck in bed, a bullet in his arm?

"Bill? I'm simply curious-"

"Jus' 'urry up and get the b***** bullet out of my arm, Fagin. Your jars of stuff ain't doin' me no good."

Fagin frowned. Who was Bill to tell him how to perform his doctoral duties? He should be grateful that he was even here; he really should have been at home to look after the boys. Luckily for Fagin, Nancy had agreed to step in.

The old man fumbled about in his pockets, trying to find the appropriate tool with which to remove the aforementioned piece of metal. Finding his tweezers at last, he set to work.

Removing the bullet took little more than a minute, but to Sykes it felt like an eternity. When at last the offending metal was taken care of and the wound, now bleeding afresh, bandaged once more, he struggled out of Fagin's grip and attempted, once again, to get comfortable.

"That's right, my dear," wheezed Fagin, wiping the tips of the tweezers with a gin soaked handkerchief. "You sleep it off. Sleep'll do you some good."

Bill made no reply but pulled the blanket up so it covered his head. He didn't want to hear from Fagin no more today.

Fagin chuckled dryly to himself and took a quick swig from his special bottle of medicinal gin. Who knew; if it was medicinal it must be good for him! He replaced his various vials and jars in his pockets and made to leave.

Donning his hat, he spared at glance at the now slumbering form of Bill Sykes. He was, of course, still curious as ever about how the injury had come about, but he figured now was not the time to pose the question. Instead he retreated quietly from Sykes' flat and made his solitary way homeward.

--

"Nance? Wot 'appened? Why won't you tell us wot 'appened?"

There Dodger went, pestering her again. Nancy didn't feel like talking about Bill at the moment and she reckoned he wouldn't want her to tell the others what had happened to him anyway. She figured it would humiliate him; after all, Bill Sykes never got caught.

"Nothin' 'appened Dodge," she lied smoothly but with some exasperation, wondering vaguely when Fagin would be back and what sort of mad methods he was using to try and cure Bill.

Dodger looked a little crestfallen at her snappy reply but returned to his breakfast with nonchalance. Nancy really should come here to cook more often; Fagin's bacon and eggs were nowhere near as good as this! But of course, Fagin didn't cook bacon and eggs. Sausages and bread, that was his lot.

As luck would have it, Fagin re-appeared at that moment, a small frown on his face. Nancy rushed to him in an instant and the two conspired together in hushed voices for a moment or two. Nancy looked relieved and Fagin still looked troubled; what was going on?

Nancy soon left the loft, with a rushed and somewhat subdued farewell to the boys. Fagin made his way to his usual spot at the head of the table and began eating what was left of Nancy's fare.

"You should cook this sorta stuff more often Fagin!" piped up one Master Bates.

Fagin opened his mouth to reply, closed it again and took another swig of gin from the bottle in his pocket. He then retired to his 'office' and began replacing his medicines in their appropriate place.

"Hats on boys, time we wos off!"

Dodger took charge and soon the boys were herded out the door and on their merry way.

Fagin returned to the table and sat down, cupping his chin in one gloved hand, deep in thought. There was no guarantee that his cures would work…what then? What would become of Bill Sykes?

**A/N:** Sorry for the lack of drama/fluff/concrete 19th century medical pratice facts in this here chapter. D:

Any ideas for future chapters? Please, send them my way. ^^

R&R, my dears! =)


	13. Of Dreams & Reality

Chapter Twelve – Of Dreams & Reality

"_No violence, my dears no violence!"_

"_Bill!...Leave 'im be!"_

"_Nancy's right, my dear. Women usually are."_

"_There! There he is!"_

"_I command you as an officer of the law-"_

"_I thought you'd been caught Bill!"_

"_If you go on the way you started, you'll be the greatest man-"_

"_I thought you'd be 'ung!"_

"…_the greatest man of all time…"_

"_I promised…but Bill-"_

"_Shut it Nance, I'm warnin' you!"_

"_Tut tut, my dear! Not so heavy as they might be…I dunno Bill. You may be losing your touch…"_

"_I'll show you if I'm losin' my touch, Fagin!"_

"_Now now, my dear, no need for that, no need for violence! Violence never solved anythi-"_

"_Bill, please! Stop it, Bill, I'm beggin' you! Stop!"_

"_Get me some gin, an' mind you don't poison it!"_

"_No violence!"_

"_Shut yer trap, Nance, or I'll 'ave the dog tear some of that screamin' voice out!"_

"Bill? BILL!"

Bill jerked himself awake; the screams and yells of his dream still reverberating around inside his head. He felt weak; trembling with a combination of chills and fear but despite the cold he found himself drenched in sweat.

"…W-Wot?" he managed to choke out, trying in vain to wipe some of the perspiration from his brow.

"You…you were shoutin' in yer sleep, Bill…" said Nancy in an almost apologetic way. "I thought you'd gone mad!"

"I'll show you mad!" snarled Bill, lunging at Nancy but collapsing back onto the bed before he could so much as touch her, the effort was so great.

Nancy had started backwards as Bill moved to strike her and now she stood rooted to the spot, her eyes wide.

"B-Bill?"

The burglar made no reply, simply sinking back with a groan onto his pillow, turning his head from her.

"Bill…you shouldn't be…you're very ill, you've a fever!"

"Says who?"

"Says Fagin!"

Bill muttered something uncouth about Fagin's medical treatments under his breath.

"So? Wot do you care?"

"Bill, you know I care about you…"

"Good. You can be carin' then an' get me some gi-"

"No, Bill."

Those two simple words caused a great change in Sykes' disposition. He turned to face Nancy again and endeavored to get out of bed, his bloodshot eyes narrowed and his features contorted in a terrifying glare.

"Wot did you say to me?"

"I…I said no, Bill. I ain't goin' to get you yer gin, even if you are ill!"

"'Ow DARE you, woman! Why shouldn't yer?"

"Because, Bill," said Nancy, in as defiant a voice as she could muster. "It does you no good! It only gives you a head-ache and puts you in a foul temper! You should be sleepin', not-"

"Who are ya to tell me wot I can an' can't do?"

Nancy said nothing. Instead she stalked over to where the gin bottle sat, only a quarter full, and drained it, while Bill watched with a mixture of shock and fury on his features.

"There you are, Bill," said Nancy, giving the stunned man a small smile. "Now get to sleep. For your own sake; it'll do you some good."

With that, a triumphant Nancy swept from the apartment, leaving a dumbfounded Bill Sykes to his furious mutterings and more terrifying dreams.

The housebreaker stared after Nancy for a moment or two, stunned. How dare she? How /dare/ she! She would pay for this soundly…when he found the strength…

With a disgruntled sigh, Bill huddled back under the covers and tried to compose himself to sleep; and yet his words and the words of his acquaintances still echoed in his mind…

"_You know I care about you…"_

"_No violence!"_

"_Who are ya to tell me wot I can an' can't do?"_

"…_the greatest man of all time."_

**A/N:** Many thanks to my dear friend Katarina Sparrow for chapter inspiration! ^^

Further ideas? PLEASE send them my way! =)

Hope you liked Bill's dream; I tried to incorporate some scenes that might have occurred between him and Fagin when he was pickpocketing for him –"Violence doesn't solve anything!" =P

More dream sequences to come in future chapters, I hope! They're fun to write! XD

Please R&R!


	14. A Chance Encounter

Chapter Thirteen – A Chance Encounter

Nancy made her way to The Three Cripples, her mind whirling. What had she just done? How could she have done that? She'd pay for it later, she knew, even if Bill could hardly move to strike her.

And what had Bill been yelling about in his sleep? Something about a policeman, Fagin, losing his touch…what did he mean? What had happened on the night he got shot?

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't see Fagin approaching, a bottle of gin in his gloved hand, a worried expression on his features.

"Nancy, my dear," he asked, looking up at her. "What's the matter?"

"Wh-what?" Nancy stammered, breaking out of her thoughts.

"What's the matter?" Fagin repeated, concern in his voice. "Has something happened?"

"You could say that, Fagin," said Nancy, trying to regain her usual composure. "Bill's gone mad, that's what! That and I drank all 'is gin, gawd knows why, so now 'e's not only lost 'is 'ead but 'is temper as well!"

"Ah," said Fagin, taking Nancy by the elbow and guiding her inside the tavern to a table. He placed the gin bottle in front of her and asked her to explain more fully; what did she mean, Bill had gone mad?

"He…he was shoutin' in 'is sleep…" Nancy told Fagin, clutching the bottle so tight that her knuckles showed through the skin. "I think 'e must've been 'avin' a nightmare…it was so frightenin', seein' 'im go to pieces like tha'…"

Fagin seemed to be thinking this over.

"What sort of things was he shouting about, my dear?"

Nancy wasn't sure how much to tell him, but then maybe he'd understand.

"He was shoutin' about all sorts…somethin' about a policeman, mostly, then some stuff about violence…an' then 'e said somethin' about you, 'e said 'I'll show you if I'm losin' my touch, Fagin!' What did 'e mean?"

Fagin gave a hollow laugh.

"Strange for him to be thinking about that little incident of all things…" Seeing Nancy's confused look, he endeavored to explain.

"It was a few years after Bill had been in my employ, my dear. He came home with some wallets, not as heavy as they might have been. I was disappointed, he'd proven himself long ago to be the best of the bunch, so to speak, and bringing home half empty wallets?" Fagin tutted. "I was foolish enough to voice my thoughts. That wasn't the first time Bill hit me and it wouldn't be the last."

"You mean…it ain't just me? He 'it's everyone?" Nancy sounded shocked, and she looked it too.

"Surely you knew that already, my dear. A very violent man, your Bill, a very violent man…"

Nancy nodded.

"I'm sorry-"

"Think nothing of it, my dear."

An awkward pause in which Nancy took another sip from the bottle and Fagin fiddled with his gloves.

"Well, at least if Bill's getting in a temper again it means he's on the mend, eh?" said Fagin after a while.

"I guess so," said Nancy, not sure how to think about this. Of course she was glad that Bill was getting better but at the same time she couldn't help thinking she'd be better off if he stayed bedridden…

She cursed herself. How could she think such things? She loved Bill didn't she?

Nancy stood up abruptly, tugging a few coins from her pocket and placing them on the table to pay for the gin. "I've gotta go back, Fagin…" she said. "I've gotta apologize to 'im…"

With that, she hurried from the tavern.

Fagin shook his head, looking after her, and sighed. Always running back to Bill, was Nancy, always apologizing to him, always deferring him…

That was no way to live.

--

"Bill?"

Nancy closed the door of the flat behind her as quietly as she could and pulled off her shawl, placing the bottle of gin she'd got for Bill on the table.

All was quiet and still; Nancy could hear nothing except her own breathing and the frantic beating of her heart.

"You think you can buy back my affections wiv _gin_, woman?"

Before Nancy had time to turn she felt herself being grabbed from behind and thrown to the floor. She gave a startled cry but this only seemed to infuriate Bill further.

She felt Bill strike her, kick her, blow after blow…her mouth tasted metallic and she felt blood oozing from her lips as she tried to find her voice, tried to somehow make the pain go away.

"Bill!" Her voice was pleading. "Bill, please! Stop it, Bill, I'm beggin' you! Stop!"

Bill did.

It was the voice from his dream, the very same.

How could it not be, this had happened before! But not like this…

He stumbled away from the fallen Nancy, collapsing into his armchair and closing his eyes, as if trying to blot out the memory of the dream, the reality of what had just happened…

Nancy endeavored to get to her feet, wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth.

"I'm sorry Bill…" she whispered. "I'm sorry."

--

**A/N:** Sorry this took me so long, I hope you like it!

This is the 'revenge' scene you asked for, MusicalTwin, I hope it lived up to your expectations!

Further ideas? Send 'em in! Don't forget to R&R my dears! =)


	15. Reward For The Capture

Chapter Fourteen – Reward For The Capture

A week had elapsed since Bill's narrow escape. His arm was almost completely healed (he could hit things without a considerable deal of pain now) and his usual temper had quite returned. As for the tempers of his acquaintances; Nancy's confidence was once again drained at the sight of him, Fagin no longer cracked jokes at his expense and Dodger now deferred him with even more reverence than before.

All seemed to be back to normal as the weak sun of late autumn rose into the sky. It was a cool morning, with a slight breeze, and yet people were still bustling to and fro, buying and selling, stopping to chat, idling at street corners to hail passing hackney cabs.

A good day for business.

The Artful Dodger and Master Charley Bates had been on the job now for about an hour and a quarter. Having procured several wipes, three wallets and the various victuals necessary to feed the gang for the day, they started home towards Fagin's.

Everything as normal.

Everything as normal, that is, until they came face to face with a particular image, plastered firmly to the brick wall for all to see; scarily lifelike and scarily accurate.

An enormous portrait of Bill Sykes' face.

A wanted poster.

--

"Fagin! FAGIN!"

"WHAT?"

Fagin was not pleased. He'd been having a well deserved snooze on his comfortable chair when he'd been shaken roughly awake by none other than Dodger and Charley. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he grumpily sat up and glowered at the boys.

"F-Fagin…" stammered Dodger, out of breath, having ran all the way back to the loft.

"What?" asked Fagin again, his tone no less irritated.

"We…we saw…we saw a…" continued Charley; he too was red from exertion and struggling to get the words out.

"For goodness sake!" screeched Fagin, not in the most tolerable of moods. "Speak out boys! I ain't got all day, I need my sleep too, you kn-"

"A wanted poster!" gasped Dodger.

"How terrifying! You see those every flippin' da-"

"Bill Sykes! The wanted poster 'ad Bill Sykes face on it, Fagin!"

Fagin leapt to his feet and started pacing, muttering to himself and gesticulating wildly, sleep forgotten.

"What? Impossible, it can't be! Why would there be a wanted poster with Bill's face on it? Oh gawd…a wanted poster with Bill's face on it! How could this 'ave 'appened? Bill's never got caught, never come close! Never, ever ever! Oh gawd, what are we going to do? What?"

Dodger and Charley stared at one another, bewildered.

"What're you staring at each other for?" snapped Fagin. "Someone's gotta warn Bill! He can't leave 'is house, no 'e can't! Then 'e'll be seen, then 'e'll be caught then we're all as good as 'ung!" Fagin wrung his hands and tugged at his scraggly hair, somehow managing to look even madder than usual.

Dodger and Charley backed away, eyes wide.

"Oh for gawd's sake!" spluttered Fagin, ramming his hat on his head. "I'll go!"

Despite the danger, Dodger and Charley couldn't help but grin at Fagin's panic. It was amusing when he panicked.

"You may think it's funny lads!" warned Fagin as he scuttled to the door. "But when the traps come knockin' at the door you won't be quite so mirthful!"

With that, he slammed the door behind him and headed for Sykes' flat.

--

**Wanted**

**Bill Sykes & A Fierce Dog**

**For**

**Robbery of a Middle Class Residence in Pentonville**

**&**

**Brutality against an Officer of the Law**

**Reward for The Capture at £5**


	16. Visitors

Chapter Fifteen – Visitors

"Bill! Bill, my dear!"

Fagin rapped in agitation on Sykes' door, silently entreating either of its occupants to open it. After a moment or two the door was indeed opened by Bill himself, looking even more out of humor than usual.

"Can't a man get any peace to sleep around here?" he growled at the old man, making to slam the door shut again. "Leave me alone, will ya?"

"I won't stay long Bill…there's something important I have to tell you, my dear!"

"Well 'urry up an'-"

But before Bill could finish his sentence both he and Fagin became conscious of yet more door-knocking, this time from the door of the Sykes' residence that led to the street. Bill made a noise of displeasure in the back of his throat.

"Anyone in there?" called a voice as yet unfamiliar to this narrative, the voice of none other than 'Flash' Toby Crackit; Bill's partner in crime for the more strenuous housebreaking. He was a tall, thin man with an air of pomposity and pride lingering about him, his flaming ginger hair and moustache expertly styled despite his low class, his attire no less fancy. He had called on Bill…well, the evidence was there in his hand.

"Hello?" he called again, in an exasperated manner. "Bill, m'boy?"

Fagin and Bill exchanged a glance; Bill ground his teeth. He wasn't in the mood to talk to Toby right now and what was that daft man here for anyway?

Fagin, however, didn't seem to notice Bill's displeasure. Instead, he hastened to open to door for Toby, grinning wickedly to himself as he did so.

"Well, well, well!" exclaimed Toby as he followed Fagin back up the stairs to Bill's doorway. "It's been awhile, lads, it's been awhile! Heard all about the arm, Bill m'lad, you alright now? Course you are, you're Bill Sykes ain'cha?"

Bills hands curled into fists, but this didn't stop his acquaintance barreling on.

"I have something very important to tell you Bill, as a matter of fact, but I can't talk business unless I have me a glass of gin first, eh?"

A pause, in which Bill glared at Toby, Toby looked perplexedly back and Fagin stared in horror at the newspaper in Toby's hand.

"It's in the Chronicle…" he said hoarsely, half to himself and half to the other two.

"Wot did you say you old fence?" growled Bill, his eyes following Fagin's so that he saw the newspaper too. "Wot's that you got there, Toby?"

"Produce the sustenance if you please!" said Toby with a smirk, deliberately keeping the paper just out of Bill's reach. Bill ill-temperedly ushered the two visitors inside and Fagin poured all of them some gin, figuring Bill would 'ask' him to do so anyway.

Toby, grinning broadly since he reckoned he knew something the others didn't, settled himself on a chair (not Bill's chair, not even he dared attempt to sit there). Having drained the glass he unfolded the newspaper with a flourish and began to read.

"Tum-de-dum-de-dum, boring un-necessary information…ah! Here we are! 'The man who succeeded in robbing the house of wealthy businessman James Reed and the attacked an officer of the law whilst running from the scene last week has now been identified; William 'Bill' Sykes, a known criminal before now but presently returned to police concern. Sykes was identified by the policeman, Henry Poole, who gave chase to him after the robbery and was attacked by his dog. A reward of five pounds sterling is offered to anyone with information concerning the criminal, whether it be his whereabouts or even his associates. Poole has informed your correspondent that Sykes is violent, armed and extremely dangerous; he is also accompanied by a vicious white dog.'"

Toby looked up from the paper to see the other's reactions; Bill was glaring daggers at him for unknowingly revealing the night's happenings to Fagin, whilst the latter seemed caught between fear at Sykes' being found out and shock that Bill had never thought to tell him what had happened.

Toby, for his part, seemed blissfully unaware of the tension. He picked up Fagin's mug while the old man was distracted and quickly gulped down the gin.

"What are we going to do?" hissed Fagin through gritted teeth, his own knarled hands clenched in fists. "What are we going to do? They've found you out Bill! If you're caught you'll be thrown in clink till Kingdom come!"

Bill aimed a blow at Fagin's head, Fagin managed to duck just in time.

Toby chuckled; the other two rounded on him and his chuckling soon subsided.

Finally, Bill spoke.

"This changes nuffink," he said, his tones gravelly as ever. "A bunch of policeman wiv bits of paper bearin' my name ain't gonna scare me off! You said it yourself Toby; I'm Bill Sykes, ain't I? I never get caught! Never!"

Toby and Fagin nodded in unison, Fagin all the more vigorously for fear of another blow. He bit his lip however; could Bill really avoid capture now the traps were onto him?

Would Bill Sykes get caught?

Would he?

**A/N:** Will he? =o

Send me your opinions via PM and I'll decide whether or not to have another dramatic chase sequence and eventual dramatic and emotional capture. XD

Oooh, I'm so /evil/ to Dickens' poor characters. D:

Further plot ideas? Send 'em in and don't forget to R&R! =)


	17. Breaking A Promise

Chapter Sixteen – Breaking A Promise

Soon after Bill's declaration, his two visitors took their leave. Toby left first, headed for The Cripples and yet more gin.

Fagin followed soon after, headed for home. Before he exited Sykes' apartment, however he warned him sternly against quitting the place.

"Whatever you do, my dear, don't leave this house. I know I sound harsh-"

"You are bein' 'arsh! I can do wot I please Fagin!"

"Bill, my dear, hear me speak a word! If you go out there the traps'll-"

"I'll escape from 'em, won't I?"

Fagin sighed wearily.

"Please Bill, my dear; promise me you won't leave this house…"

"No! I won't promise you nuffink!"

"Bill Sykes; do you want to get nabbed by the traps?"

Bill was startled by Fagin's sudden change in attitude; he sounded more like the old Fagin, the one who could yell, curse, beat you within an inch of your life from bringing back half-empty wallets…

"No…"

"Do you want to end up in the clink?"

"No!"

"Do you want to risk the drop by leaving this house, Bill?"

"NO!"

"Good." Fagin smirked. "Promise me you won't leave it then."

"I promise," said Bill sullenly, his fingers crossed behind his back in a childish fashion.

Fagin nodded, donned his hat and scuttled downstairs, closing the door behind him with a bang. Well…that had been an interesting visit and no mistake. The old man only hoped his oldest acquaintance would keep his promise; if he talked, for he hated Fagin enough to rat him out, what would happen to him? The boys? Fagin could almost feel the hangman's noose about his neck; with that chilling sensation gripping him he hurried home fast as he could.

--

Bill Sykes donned his hat and grabbed his jimmy from where it lay on the floor. Since when had he listened to Fagin? He could go out if he wanted to, and that he would. Now.

The afternoon was fine, although the wind from earlier that morning was picking up. Bill had to hold onto his hat at intervals to prevent it from flying off his head. This displeased him but not as much as the wanted posters, glaring accusingly at him from almost every wall he passed.

How could this have happened? Doubtless the sniveling policeman, Henry Poole, had been found in that alleyway and then told the traps everything; how he'd chased Bill, almost caught him, been attacked by Bull's-Eye…

Bill shook his head in disbelief and continued walking, not caring where he went. He'd been cooped up in his flat for so long; was it wrong of him to leave it?

At long last he reached his destination; the beer shop. Going to the Cripples tonight, he guessed, would have been a bad idea. What if Fagin had decided to go there and caught him out of doors?

How stupid did that sound? Bill Sykes; afraid of Fagin?

He sat down at his usual table and soon had a glass near overflowing with beer placed in front of him. With a rare grin, Bill took a sip of the frothy beverage. Looking up from his tankard a few moments later, everything seemed normal. No-one had exclaimed at his being there; he was safe!

Unfortunatley for the housebreaker, he hadn't noticed the man at the bar. He looked a little more well off than the shop's usual customers; his hair neatly combed and his shirt not so grubby as others. His boots weren't scuffed either.

Not to mention the wad of white bandage around his right hand…

**A/N:** Shortness, my apologies. D: Also sorry this took me so long to get up here despite the shortness; I had writers block for a good hour or so; thank goodness for my 1994 Revival Cast Album! XD

But hey; it has a cliffhanger! Goodness knows we all like them, don't we? =P


	18. Fisticuffs & A Flit

Chapter Seventeen – Fisticuffs & A Flit

The barman leant over to ask the strange man what it'd be; the man replied in the negative. That and his unusually plummy accent made Bill take notice of him. Who in the world came to a bar and didn't drink anything?

He frowned as he observed the man, taking him to be some rich 'un in disguise, come for a bit of low-life entertainment, albeit lacking in alcohol. It was only after scrutinizing the man that Bill noticed the bandaging on his hand.

His right hand.

His gun hand.

Upon seeing this and realizing what it must mean, without even pausing to wonder if it were a coincidence (how could it be?), Bill leapt to his feet.

This probably was not the wisest decision in his power; a few people turned to stare, including the man with the bandage. As he turned to look at Bill there was recognition on both men's countenances.

It was definitely him.

Bill Sykes.

Henry Poole.

The policeman hurriedly dismounted his bar stool and moved towards Bill; the latter stood his ground. He wasn't afraid of the police; he wasn't a coward! He wasn't just going to run away!

Poole should really have grabbed Sykes and hauled him off to the police station then and there, but he couldn't help but have a little gloat. The man had escaped him once, but he wouldn't escape this time! His triumph showed on his face as much as Bill's fury showed on his.

"Well, well, well…" drawled Poole, much more confident now he wasn't in a dark alleyway at night. "Look who we have here!"

Almost everyone in the small pub had turned to stare; some curious, some shocked, some watching the drama unfolding before them with eager expressions on their faces. Bill really should have run, then and there. Escaped while he could. But he didn't.

"If it isn't Bill Sykes himself!"

Murmurs and mutterings from the crowd.

"Taking a break from breaking into other people's houses, eh?"

Poole got closer to Sykes with every step, a twisted smile of mingled victory and pride playing about his lips. Still the housebreaker stood his guard, not saying a word, his fists clenched at his sides.

"What's the matter, eh Sykes? Gone deaf?"

The foolish policeman was now mere inches away.

It was Bill's turn to smile as he punched the man, as hard as he could, before bolting for the door.

He had just enough time to see Poole reel backwards with a shout of pain and dismay, before he was gone, running back the way he'd come, towards his flat…

No…that was a ridiculous idea. Then the traps'd know where he lived!

Bill turned on his heel and shot off down another alleyway, his heart pounding. What had he done? Why hadn't he listened to Fagin?

He could hear shouts and yells; it would seem Poole had mobilized a crowd to come after him. The cries of 'Stop, thief!' were well known among the streets of London, and there were always those eager to catch the criminal themselves and get the reward.

Bill didn't know how long he had run for; all he knew was that it felt like years. The mob was getting closer; he could feel the tension and enthusiasm in the air. He forced himself to keep running; dodging down another alleyway, scrambling over gates and fences…anything to deter the crowd.

It dawned on him then that this had never happened before; he had never been in so much danger of being caught by the traps… At least in the earlier incident with Poole Bulls-Eye had been there to warn him off…

"There he is!"

"Get him! Get Sykes!"

"Robber! Thief!"

The eager crowd was almost upon him. Bill inwardly cursed himself for having drunk so much earlier, doubtless it wasn't of any use to him now. He felt light headed and dizzy; never good when one is trying to escape with one's life.

A sudden blow to the back of the head caused Bill to stumble and crumple onto the ground; he tried to stagger upright again and continue running but a wave of nausea overtook him the moment he tried to get to his feet.

He heard a babble of voices, Poole's triumphant shouts chief among them.

He felt handcuffs roughly clamped on his wrists, which he tried to fight, albeit weakly, but in vain.

He was hauled to his feet, the jeers and shouts of the crowd ringing in his ears.

"_Bill Sykes; do you want to get nabbed by the traps?"_

Bill felt himself being pulled along by two policemen, the pair echoing the sentiments of the crowd with vigour as they dragged him along the street to the station.

"_Do you want to end up in the clink?"_

The metal bonds about his wrists hurt more with every step, the cold metal biting into his flesh as he stumbled along. The realization was beginning to dawn on him…

"_Do you want to risk the drop by leaving this house, Bill?"_

Bill Sykes had been caught.

--

**A/N:** Oh, what a dreadful person I am; I should be hauled off to the clink myself! XD

What'll become of Bill Sykes? =o

In case you're thinking 'NOWAI THIS COULD NEVER HAPPEN WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?' etc, I hasten to inform you that Dickens himself mentions Bill having been in the clink before the events of the novel Oliver Twist transpired.

So don't flame me please. =) Dickens' word is law.

Please R&R! ^^


	19. The Clink

Chapter Eighteen – The Clink

The clink was just how Sykes had imagined it, if not worse. It was hard for him to be distinct in his present state of mind, but he knew that he was in a cold, dark cell, brooding, all alone. He was to spend the night here before his trial the next day; if he even was to have a trial.

What was the point?

It was evident he was guilty; there were witnesses not to mention Poole and the crowd who'd chased him through the streets…

With a sigh of mingled frustration and self-hatred, Bill sank down the stone wall to the floor where he spent the next few minutes fingering the marks the handcuffs had left him with. They still burned and stung although the metal bonds were long gone, back in Poole's pocket.

How could this have happened? How could he have been caught? He was Bill Sykes, wasn't he? Why hadn't he run when he could have? Why hadn't he taken into account what Toby had said? Why hadn't he listened to that old wretch Fagin, despite his dislike of the man? He'd been right, for once. If Bill had paid him heed he'd be in his flat right now, drinking a nice glass of gin or sound asleep in bed.

But no.

Instead, he was here. A dank, musty smelling room, with only the small rays of light filtering through the barred windows for company. That and his thoughts.

Doubtless the news of his capture would be all over the papers, if not by now than by tomorrow, the early edition. But the others would notice when he didn't return that night. Fagin would notice if he stopped by to check on him. Nancy would notice when she returned from The Three Cripples to find an empty bed.

Nancy…

What had he done?

He slumped even further onto the freezing cobblestone floor, his head pulsing angrily from where he'd been struck, his heart beating furiously.

Bill Sykes found himself blinking back tears; tears of frustration, fury, fear…

Then darkness closed in, and he knew no more.

--

_The jeers and shouts of the crowd filled his ears. He felt the rough hands of the policemen gripping his arms, preventing his escape. He stumbled up onto the platform, the men at his sides chuckling at his fate. For a moment, he was sure he saw a familiar face in the crowd; a tear-stained face, a woman's face…_

_He wanted desperately to call her name but these hopes were soon dashed by a rough black hood, jammed over his head. He was dragged, blindly, to his place on the platform, the vice like grips on his arms suddenly gone._

_A hush descended on the crowd._

_He could feel the rope about his neck before it was even there, its very presence filling him with a sickening sense of dread. This was it. This was the end._

_A confused jumble of words and pictures flooded his mind; memories, hopes and dreams long forgotten, stored in a crevice in the back of his mind; thoughts he had never wanted to dwell on again…_

_The rope grew taut and the ground beneath his feet fell away._

_Just before the end he could have sworn he heard a scream._

_Her scream._

--

Bill awoke with a yell of his own, unable to distinguish between his sweat and his tears. He lay there a moment of two, trying to collect his thoughts and regain his usual composure.

Was he mad?

He put a hand to his throat. There was no rope, though his neck still burned. The memory of his dream was enough to make him feel nauseous and he tried desperately to keep the thought of it at bay, but to no avail.

The noose.

The rope.

The drop.

The scream…

Surely he must be going mad. The clink…the clink was driving him mad. He had to escape, he just had to… But how? How could he escape? There was no way he could escape, no way at all… He tried to get to his feet, but he could barely lift his head from the cobbles. The pain from his head was excruciating, the ferocious pounding of his heart no better.

What wouldn't he give to be back at his flat, a glass of gin in his hand and a fire in the grate?

He shivered, pulling his coat closer about him.

He wanted desperately to sleep, to blot out the pain, but fear of the dream kept him awake.

--

**A/N: **So sorry this took so long guys! D: I had the most dreadful case of writer's block, but I hope this chapter was worth it! Another dream sequence, yay!

I creeped myself out writing that… -shudders-

You know what to do, people! XD R&R if you please! =)


	20. Nancy's Visit

Chapter Nineteen – Nancy's Visit

Fagin's loft was quiet, save for the crackling of the fire. The old man sat before it, mug in hand, trying not to doze off. He had to stay awake; he would go and check Bill hadn't sneaked out in a minute or two…

As it turned out, Fagin didn't have to go anywhere in a hurry. Mere moments after he had replaced his mug on the table and heaved himself from his chair the door to the loft burst open. In ran Nancy, her shawl trailing along the ground in her haste, her hair in disarray. She looked terrified, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

"Nancy, my dear!" Fagin exclaimed, not seeming to notice the girl's unstable emotional state.

"Where is he, Fagin?" cried Nancy, her voice full of panic and fear. "Where's Bill?"

Fagin blanched white as a sheet.

"You…you mean he's not at your place?" he asked in a quavering voice, already knowing the answer.

"No!" replied Nancy fretfully, sinking into a chair. "He ain't at the Cripples either, or the beer shop. Where else would 'e be this time of night?"

Fagin held back a chuckle. This wasn't a laughing matter. Bill had left the house for certain, despite the fact that he promised Fagin he wouldn't! Where could he be? Where would he have gone?

Thinking this over, Fagin hurriedly poured Nancy a glass of gin. The girl accepted it wordlessly, her eyes fixed on the floor. Where was he? Where had he gone? She'd seen the wanted posters on her way to the Cripples; that had been enough to make her blood run cold. But the fact that Bill wasn't at home, or here, or any of his usual haunts…

Had he been caught?

She shook her head instinctively; that couldn't be! It was impossible! But it made sense…

"What is it, my dear?" asked Fagin, taking a sip from his own mug of spirit. "What're you thinking?"

"Maybe…" Nancy whispered, not looking up. "Maybe he's been…caught…"

Fagin started to shake his own head but stopped moments later. What Nancy was saying, as much as he hated to admit it, made sense. That would explain why Bill was no-where to be found…

But he couldn't let Nancy wallow in such fear and apprehension. That wouldn't do.

He gingerly placed a hand on Nancy's shoulder, in an attempt at comfort. "Don't worry, my dear…" he said softly. "He always turns up!"

Nancy turned to give Fagin a weak smile, but it was clear she wasn't convinced.

--

Nancy and Fagin waited in this vein until early morning light filtered through the cracked and dirty windows of the loft. Nancy thanked Fagin for his support and left the loft as the first of the boys began to emerge from their beds; she had an idea where to get news. As Fagin hobbled over to the fire to begin cooking breakfast, Nancy was closing the door quietly as she could behind her.

"Where you goin' Nance? We wos just about to 'ave breakfast; yer welcome to join us, y'know. You don't 'ave to go runnin' back to Bill, do ya?"

It was the Artful Dodger, leaning casually in the doorway, his hat at an angle on his head from where he wore it while sleeping.

Nancy wasn't sure what to say; should she tell Dodger about Bill's disappearance or keep it quiet? Dodger was a good friend, certainly, a better friend even than Fagin, but could she trust him with this information? Could she confide in him?

"I 'ave to go back to 'im Dodge," Nancy replied, turning her face from him. "Goodbye."

Dodger watched Nancy walking away, her head bowed, attempting the shield herself from the cold with her thin shawl. There was something she wasn't telling him, a secret she was keeping hidden…what was it?

"Oi! Dodger! Breakfast's up, mate!"

"Comin' Charley!' Dodger replied, closing the attic door, a small frown appearing on his features.

--

**A/N:** Just a short chapter to catch up with the rest of the gang; a little bit of DodgerxNancy-ness for my dear friend Katarina Sparrow. Hopefully the next chapter wil be more enjoyable as Nancy goes to get news of Bill, but finds it in the most unexpected way…

R&R! =)


	21. Jacob's Island

Chapter Twenty – Jacob's Island

Jacob's Island was a foreboding place, even in the light of day. As Nancy approached the derelict and crumbling building where Toby Crackit made his home, she felt a sense of foreboding, lingering about the place like an unseen mist.

And yet, she thought, she must go and visit him. He of all people would know what had happened; he was famous for sticking his nose in everyone else's business and spreading rumors and falsehoods; and yet people still liked him… Nancy herself had never been fond of the man; too egotistical by far.

However it was not the man of the house who greeted Nancy on the doorstep; instead it was Toby's manservant; a greasy haired and lanky individual by name of Barney. Another character of whom Nancy wasn't fond; he leered unpleasantly at her as she stood on the doorstep, shivering slightly from the cold.

"Wot you want, eh?" he said sullenly as he observed Nancy. "Toby ain't in the mood fer visitors!"

"Barney, I need to see him!" said Nancy firmly, trying to stay calm. She wasn't sure how long she could keep up this façade of tranquility, not when she had her suspicions that Bill, her Bill, was trapped in a jail cell, guarded heavily by police…

"Oh really?" said Barney, clearly enjoying Nancy's discomfort. "An' why's tha', eh? Wot's Toby gotta do wiv you?"

Just then Toby himself appeared behind Barney, his usual air of showiness and obsequiousness quite drained. He told Barney, in no eloquent terms, to clear off, which Barney did, pulling a face behind Toby's back as he lollopped back up the stairs.

"I'm guessin' you 'eard the news," Toby said, his naturally sly expression replaced by one of grief and fear; an expression that chilled Nancy to the core. What had happened to make Toby, Flash Toby Crackit, like this?

"That's why I came here," said Nancy hurriedly. "Toby, wot do ya mean? Wot news?"

Toby bowed his head, his melancholy expression worsening and confirming Nancy's fears.

"I 'ate to be the one to tell ya this Nance, m'girl…but Bill…Bill's been caught. Nabbed by the traps."

Nancy's heart sank. She'd known this all along, she realized, but hadn't wanted to believe it, had denied the truth.

Bill was caught.

Her Bill.

She had hardly noticed that Toby kept talking; despite the tumultuous event he couldn't help but tell all he knew.

"'E wos in the beer shop yesterday evenin', even after the old 'un warned 'im not to leave the 'ouse! Just like Bill, innit? Ignore Fagin's advice, 'ead off to get some beer down 'is throat-"

Bill was caught.

Her Bill.

"-an' it wosn't some toff out fer a night on the town; the man was a flippin' copper! The same one tha' tried to nab 'im in the alleyway! /Then/ things started gerrin nasty, lemmee tell ya-"

Bill was caught.

Her Bill.

"-'e went flyin' backwards and seconds later Bill wos runnin' fer it-"

"TOBY!"

The man in question looked somewhat affronted at being interrupted in his ramble, but quickly fell silent, not wanting to risk an emotionally unstable Nancy's wrath.

"D'you know wot's 'appenin' to 'im now? Will 'e still be in the clink or-"

"Oh, 'e'll be on trial, m'girl," said Toby with a sad shake of the head. "Up in front of the beak an' all tha'. Mind you, I don't reckon 'e'll peach, not even to get 'imself off…sure 'e don't like Fagin but 'e wouldn't want 'im to face the drop…would 'e? After all Fagin's done fer 'im?"

Nancy wasn't sure why Toby was so het up over Fagin; shouldn't he be worried about Bill, his old comrade?

"Can't ya think of anythin' we can do?" said Nancy, voicing her thoughts. "We 'ave to 'elp 'im, we can't just do nothin'!"

"Maybe you should tell the old 'un?"

Nancy shook her head firmly. That wouldn't help Bill.

She had made her decision. She knew what she had to do. She was going to go to that courtroom and, some way, somehow, help Bill to escape. She just had to.

No matter what happened, she'd stand by his side. She wouldn't, she couldn't, just give up on him now. Not when he needed her the most.

--

**A/N:** Yes, I enjoy writing Toby; egotistical prat that I make him out to be. XD

Hope you like this chapter, dears; sorry I took so long to get it up! D:

Please R&R! =)


	22. The Beak

Chapter Twenty-One – The Beak

The day of the trial. Crowds had begun gathering outside the courtroom since early that morning, eagerly awaiting the trial with all its drama, intrigue and probable violence. Nancy stood near the fringe of the crowd, disguised as best she could with her wicker basket and bonnet. No-one suspected anything, no-one knew her.

An official emerged from the court to invite the spectators to take their seats. With much pushing and shoving the crowd milled in through the double doors; some squabbling with each other about where was best to sit to observe the trial.

All around there was talk of the criminal, Bill Sykes, and the crimes he had committed to end up here. Nancy hated hearing all this idle-minded gossiped and slander but it was a small price to pay if she wanted to have a chance of helping Bill.

The crowd had only just begun to simmer down a little when the judge appeared; a small, thin man with a hooked nose and a fierce expression on his face. He staggered a little on his way up to the podium, which made some of the audience titter behind their hands. This particular magistrate, Fang, usually dealt with less severe cases than house robbery and violence but the man who did had, ironically, been robbed the previous night and was in too much shock to warrant coming to court that morning.

The doors to the rear of the court opened seconds after Fang had collapsed onto his chair; in strode two policemen, each with a firm grip on Bill Sykes himself. Nancy gasped in shock; Bill looked so different even after one night in the clink…his eyes were bloodshot and swollen, his face sallow and lifeless…time and again he struggled to free himself from the men's grip, his mouth a thin, determined line, and each time he failed. He looked drained yet furious all at once; if he was scared he certainly wasn't about to show it.

As he was dragged past where Nancy sat, she was certain he had noticed her. Surprise had momentarily flashed across his countenance, she was sure of it. Unfortunately for the pair of them, the policeman on Bill's right noticed this as he turned his head slightly to look at Nancy. He followed Bill's gaze; Nancy quickly averted her eyes.

Bill soon found himself in the barred 'dock', the policemen still flanking him on either side. From his furtive glances about the courtroom, he knew that the place was packed. People liked a media-fuelled trial, it would seem. He was sure he'd seen her too, Nancy, although he couldn't be sure. She could easily have been a hallucination from lack of sleep, or a memory of the dream…

"Well, what's this one charged with?" snapped Fang irritably, glaring down at Bill.

The clerk of the court rolled his eyes; Fang really shouldn't be in court if he was going to be drunk at every single trial he presided over. It didn't do a thing for his, or the court's, reputation. He turned this place of justice into a circus!

Despite his misgivings with regards to the presiding official, the clerk replied with nonchalance; "Robbery of the residence of James Reed of Pentonville and brutality against an officer of the law, sir,"

"Ah," said Fang, with a shake of his head. "What's your name then?"

All eyes turned to Sykes; he had finally managed to extricate himself from the grips of the policeman and had his arms folded across his chest, a sneer on his face.

"Ain't you seen the wanted posters? Or are ya blind?"

Fang's eyes widened. He hadn't had one of the accused talk back to him in awhile, even though he usually dealt with child cases; they usually just gave him the information he wanted before they were sent to hard labour or shipped off to Australia.

"Oh," he said, with a nod. "You're William Sykes! Of course!"

More laughs from the crowd.

Nancy continued to stare fixedly at Bill, not laughing at all, trying to come up with a plan of action. This judge didn't seem very contempt (from what little she knew of the beak); perhaps he himself would be Bill's salvation, albeit unknowingly?

"Well then," said Fang, over the noise of the crowd. "Do we have any witnesses to the alleged crimes?" This query was followed by a hiccup; the clerk's suspicions confirmed.

"Indeed we do sir," said the clerk, rifling through the stack of papers on his desk. "Let me see…aha! Would Henry Poole please come to the stand?"

Henry Poole, resplendent in full police regalia, was only too happy to oblige. He shot Bill a nasty look before launching into a well rehearsed soliloquy about the events of the previous week and what a dreadful criminal Sykes was and how he ought to be hung then and there.

It was evident after the first few sentences that Poole was not popular, not just with the public but also with his fellow officials of justice. Bill noticed Fang trying and failing to keep a straight face as the man rambled on, while the clerk had his face in his hands in an attempt to hide his laughter.

"That…ha ha ha…that will be enough!" chuckled Fang as Poole began to show no signs of ceasing in his rant. "Anyone else?"

James Reed himself was duly called to the witness stand, he had nothing much to say except that he had been awoken by a dog barking outside his house and gone downstairs to see what the problem was, only to find Bill there. This was information the court already knew, and he was soon asked to sit back down.

"Does anyone (hiccup) have anything to say in defence of William Sykes?" called Fang as Reed resumed his seat.

Was this a foolish idea? Definitely. What would she say? She didn't know. But she had to do /something/; she couldn't just sit here and let Bill get hauled off to jail…

Nancy stood up, tentatively, and made her way towards the witness box. She felt the eyes of the crowd on her, watching her every move. She was especially glad she'd taken it into her head to disguise herself. As she turned to face the crowd, she saw Bill staring up at her, a mixture of shock and horror on his face. What was she doing?

"Who are you?" snapped Fang, clearly irritated that someone had come forward.

"Catherine Winters," Nancy lied, making up the name on the spot. She still had no idea what she was going to say and wrung her hands nervously behind her back.

"Well, what have you got to say?" Fang continued, not at all suspicious of Nancy's lie.

"That William Sykes ain't…/isn't/…guilty of these crimes," replied Nancy, hurriedly correcting herself in attempt to make herself sound less…lower class.

Mutterings and confused voices arose from the crowd; who was this woman? Hadn't she heard all the evidence against the accused man? Was she insane to deny it? Or was she speaking the truth?

"He isn't!" she repeated. "And I can prove it!"

Fang raised an eyebrow.

"You see, William Sykes was not in Pentonville when the robbery took place last week," Nancy continued, trying to sound confident and assured of her story. "He was, in fact, with a friend and me…at a public house…"

She paused, noticing Bill staring at her quizzically. What rubbish was she spouting? She decided in that instant to discontinue the story and instead just protest against everything that had just been said.

"Honestly, you have the wrong bloke! It was dark in the alleyway; who's to say that Poole thought the real robber was Sykes? Maybe he has a grudge against him and just wants to see him in the clink, not caring for justice? Who's to say it ain't /him/ that's lyin'!"

The spectators were, of course, excited by this. A corrupt law officer! What a scandal! What drama!

Poole leapt to his feet and began to protest, but his voice was drowned by the shouts from the crowd. Some were even on their feet clapping; applauding 'Catherine Winters' and her brilliant defence. It was clear at that moment that Fang's court was a place made for entertainment and not fair judging; Fang himself looked pleased, although it was probably his drunken state that made him so and not the fact that 'Catherine's' defence hadn't been at all convincing.

"Very well!" Fang hollered, banging his gavel for silence and promptly dropping it. "William Sykes you are cleared of all charges! Henry Poole (hiccup) /you/ are a twit! Convicted the wrong bloke indeed! I have a mind to dock your pay!"

He picked up the gavel and slammed it down, his decision final. The case was dismissed, over with, finished. Sykes wasn't guilty, Poole was a prat. What more was there to be said?

The stunned policemen were asked to escort Sykes from the court, the crowd following behind, 'Catherine Winters' at its head.

It wasn't until the crowd had dispersed and the policemen returned to their beat that Nancy and Sykes were able to make their way home without suspicion. Neither of them said anything as they wound their way through the familiar streets. Nancy was biting her lip, still reeling from shock that her stupidity had paid off, Bill still reeling from shock, period.

It was only when they were finally home, the door safely locked behind them and the gin poured, that either dared to speak.

"Don't mention this to anyone, Nance," Bill said.

Nancy nodded. "Only you, Toby, half of London and me are to know," she replied, a wry smile appearing on her face.

For the first time in months, Bill and Nancy exchanged a laugh.

--

**A/N: **A nice long chapter, a little BillxNancy fluff, unbelievable rescue…hope it was worth the wait! XD

I know the whole Nancy saves Bill by being stupid thing is very implausible, but honestly I wasn't sure how else to do it and I thoughts it'd be great if Nancy saved Bill, to give the story an edge, you know?

Further plot ideas? Send 'em on in!

Here's hoping you enjoyed this chapter despite its clichéd implausibility! =) Don't flame me for the stupidity please; I'll be very hurt. ;___;

Please R&R!


	23. Fagin Faces Facts

Chapter Twenty-Two – Fagin Faces Facts

Unfortunately for Bill Sykes, it was not only Nancy, Toby, half of London and himself that knew of the previous day's events. By the next morning a certain treasure hoarding, toasting fork wielding, bearded someone had found out what had happened…and he was not happy.

"What do you call this?"

Fagin threw the newspaper forcefully onto the table, the headline 'Sykes Saved From Swinging' glaring and garish in bold black print.

"A well written 'eadline?" asked Bill with a grin, mercilessly enjoying Fagin's discomfort. It was always amusing to see the old 'un go to pieces and today was no exception.

"No!" snarled Fagin, curling his small hands into fists. "Well, admittedly it is well alliterated, but that's not the point!"

"Look Fagin-"

"Don't you 'look Fagin' me, Bill Sykes! Don't you realize what you've done? The anxiety and panic that we went through? The risk Nancy took in trying to help you? The fact that you got caught in the first place? You /promised/ me you wouldn't leave this house Bill, you promised! And look what happened! You were in the clink, Bill, the clink! Up in front of the beak, the flippin' beak, for gawd's sake!"

"Fagin-"

"After everything I told you, all the warnings I gave, you still took it into your head to leave the house and for what? A pint of /beer/!? For gawd's sake! A pint of beer! Since when has drinking gin been a problem with you, eh? Since when, Bill Sykes?"

Bill sighed heavily, resisting the urge to smack Fagin around the head with the accusing newspaper.

"Fagin," he snapped, managing the halt the others flood of accusations. "Shut it, alright? It's over. I'm no longer in the clink, I didn't peach on ya, Nance an' me are both back in one piece…there's no need for ya to be actin' like this! Yer getting' on my nerves!"

Fagin opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, pulled the newspaper from the table and, for the fifth time that morning, scanned the article.

"But honestly Bill, my dear! How do you expect me to react? Look at this, for gawd's sake!"

He selected an incriminating passage with his finger and read it aloud, with particular emphasis on the bits he did not like, which turned out to be all of it.

"Uproar in Fang's court yesterday as criminal Bill Sykes is allowed to walk free, without even saying a word in his defence! The trial was no more than a joke from the arrival and pompous speech-making of policeman Henry Poole to the surprise defence of the accused on the behalf of one Catherine Winters, who managed to prevent prosecution without any real evidence."

Bill chuckled.

"This is no laughing matter!" snapped Fagin, tossing the paper aside as if it pained him to touch it. "You're free now, my dear, and I'm as glad of it as anyone but can't you see what could have happened? What if the judge had been contempt? What if Nancy hadn't come to your defence, foolish as it was? What if-"

"Fagin! What're you doin' 'ere?"

It was Nancy, home from the market, basket on her arm, fresh gin bottle in her hand.

"I'm giving your Bill a telling off, _Miss Winters_!" sneered Fagin. "_That's _what I'm doing!"

It was Nancy's turn to laugh.

"For gawd's sake Fagin, leave 'im be! 'E spent the night in the clink an' found 'imself in front of the beak; now you're getting' on 'is case too!"

Fagin frowned.

"Very well, I'll leave 'im be," he said in a final tone, getting to his feet and donning his hat. "But there's one last thing I want to say to 'im before I go."

As he said this Fagin began making his way towards the door, muttering under his breath about how Bill wasn't taking this whole affair seriously when he should be.

Bill leant back in his chair, propping his feet on the table. "Wot's that, eh Fagin?"

Fagin turned to face him again, a wicked little smile on his face.

"I told you so, Bill Sykes," he hissed. "I told you so."

--

A/N: Sorry for its shortness! D: Sadly this story is drawing to a close, as I now realize. Two or three chapters more at most. I know how I want it to end, hopefully it won't disappoint.

But never fear! A new fanfiction will be in the works as soon as this one is complete; I couldn't bear to stop writing with this theme; the vibrant characters of the novel are so much fun to use in one's own works of fiction.

Enough of my soppy stuff for now, you know what to do! Please R&R! =)


	24. Toby Tells All

Chapter Twenty-Three – Toby Tells All

Meanwhile, back at Fagin's den, news of a similar subject was being recounted to the gang, who were all listening to the speaker in rapt attention.

Toby seemed to have gotten over his shock at Bill's capture; he was now boasting that it wasn't he who had been caught and, to make matters even worse, exaggerating every detail he knew in order to entertain the boys and keep them interested. He hadn't gone to fetch the paper yet that morning, so he was as yet unaware of Bill's no longer being an inmate at the clink...

The boys, for their part, were gathered around Toby in a ragged circle (he enjoyed gesticulating and acting out his words to make a point), eagerly lapping up his ridiculous tales; most of the laughter started by Charley Bates himself, Dodger soon to follow.

"So wot 'appened then wos the man jumped up, right, an' he strode over to Bill to start annoyin' 'im-"

A burst of laughter from the boys.

"-an' of course Bill gets real mad an' punches 'im in the face!"

"That must've 'urt!" exclaimed Dodger, remembering all too well how violent Bill had been all those nights ago, when he tried to hide Fagin's treasure box. He winced slightly at the memory but luckily neither Toby or the boys noticed.

"Where've you been 'idin', Dodge? 'Course it would've 'urt! Any'ow, 'e punches 'im in the face an' then 'e runs out of the shop like a madman!"

A collective gasp; the suspense was mounting.

"So 'e's runnin' an' runnin' for all 'e's worth, soon there's a whole flippin' mob chasin' after 'im along wiv the traps an' all!"

Another gasp.

Toby chuckled, enjoying the attention.

"An' then guess wot 'appened?"

"What 'appened?" chorused the boys. "C'mon Toby, tell us!"

Unfortunately for Toby it was at that moment that the door shot open.

Luckily, it was only Fagin.

"What're you doing here Toby, my dear?" asked Fagin, his pleasantry interrupted somewhat by angry shouts and exclamations of dismay from the boys, eager to hear the rest of Toby's tale.

"Telling the boys all about poor old Bill's capture! Makes for a good story, don't it lads?"

The boys nodded and chorused assent.

"He won't be happy you said that Toby…" muttered Fagin, grinning to himself as he shrugged off his coat and went to pour himself a large measure of gin.

Toby laughed.

"Oh, come off it Fagin! 'Ow's 'e gonna find out? 'E's in the clink, ain't he?"

Shocked murmurs and exclamations from the boys.

It was Fagin's turn to laugh; a rather sinister laugh at that.

"What's funny Fagin?"

"He isn't, my dear," chuckled Fagin, downing his glass. "Not anymore…"

"Ya mean-"

Fagin nodded.

"I'm afraid so, my dear!"

Now it was the boys turn to chuckle; amusing as Toby could be it was even more funny to see him put down and humiliated, and by Fagin, of all people! Charley was rolling about, beating his fists on the floor, tears of laughter running down his face. Dodger was in a similar state of mirth.

"He's…not gonna be 'appy wiv me, is 'e Fagin?"

Fagin nodded again.

Toby grimaced and donned his hat, his face turning an unhealthy pale colour as he made to leave.

As the door shut behind him, the boys laughed all the more heartily. What a joke that had been; what a splendid trick!

Dodger, separating himself from the crush of guffawing and hollering boys, scuttled over to Fagin's side, his own laughter subsiding a little as he was further from Charley (who was still rolling about having some sort of fit).

"Is it true, Fagin?" asked Dodger excitedly. "Bill Sykes got caught but 'e managed to escape?"

"Indeed he did, my dear. Indeed he did!"

Dodger paused, thinking this information over. Then;

"He really ain't gonna be 'appy wiv Toby, eh Fagin?"

Fagin shook his head and poured himself another glass of gin.

Things were looking up.

Little did the members of the gang know how soon their world would once again be turned upside down…

--

**A/N: **Sort of cliffhanger here, nifty Toby pratishness there. =P

Methinks the next chapter shall be the last; I promise you it'll be nice and long!

Please R&R! =)


	25. Fine Fellows

Chapter Twenty-Four – Fine Fellows

The day was surprisingly fine for the season so more Londoners were bustling about the streets than usual. The Dodger was out on his own today; Charley had decided to go alone too. Working alone, they liked to compete to see who could get the most. A fun game.

The unseasonably good weather meant it was a good day for business and the Artful's pockets were soon heavily lined with goods. Satisfied he was about to turn homewards when he was distracted by a young boy who was…staring at him?

Dodger shrugged it off and turned away, only to spot a policeman heading straight for him. He casually loitered in the same spot until the man had passed but, turning around again, it was only to see the boy, dressed in drab grey rags, still staring in awe in his direction.

Now a little irritated, Dodger strode over to the boy, intending to give him a right telling off. He was a short young fellow, with a mop of sandy hair and wide blue eyes with a permanent expression of innocence and naivety.

"What're you starin' at? Ain't you never seen a toff?" asked Dodger of the boy, giving him a glance over. His shoes looked near worn to pieces, his feet bruised, bloodied and blistered.

"No!" replied the boy earnestly. "Never! I'm sorry, I-"

"Oh, tha's alright."

This lad was proving hard to tell off.

Dodger paused to hurriedly swipe a bun from a passing baker, tossing it to the boy.

"Hungry?" he asked with a small smile.

"Yes, I am!" replied the boy thankfully, taking a large bite of the pastry. "I've come a long way. I've been walking for seven days!"

Dodger nodded knowingly. He must be on the run from the traps, to have been on to go for so long.

"Runnin' away from the beak were ya?" he asked, intrigued despite himself.

"The what?" replied the boy, utterly perplexed.

"Don't tell me you don't know wot a beak is, me flash mate!"

"A bird's mouth, isn't it?" said the boy, seeming intimidated by Dodger's apparent wealth of superior knowledge. Dodger smirked at his expression.

"My eyes; how green can ya get? For your information, a beak's a magistrate!" He paused again, swiping a bit of his companion's bread. "Who ya runnin' away from then? Yer old man?"

The smaller boy shook his head. "No, I'm an orphan! I've come to London to seek my fortune!"

Dodger grimaced. "Oh, you 'ave, 'ave ya? Got any lodgin's?"

The boy shook his head.

"Money?"

Another shake of the head.

"Not a farthing!"

The Dodger pondered this awhile. Would Fagin appreciate him bringing another lad home? Weighing up the pros and cons in about ten or so seconds, Dodger decided that nope, the old 'un would in fact be glad of a newcomer to the gang. He hastened to inform the boy that he knew a 'respectable old gentleman' that'd give him lodgings for nothing, not to mention never ask for the change, so long as he was introduced to him by someone he knew.

"He must be a very kind old gentleman!" exclaimed the boy, polishing off the last of the bread with relish.

Dodger chuckled inwardly. Kind indeed.

"Oh yes, yes, 'e's very kind! An' I'm a particular favourite of 'is!"

It was true; he couldn't help boasting of his star status to such an impressionable and naïve person as…what was the boy's name again?

"If you're comin' along, I best to know who ya are!" he prompted.

"My name is Oliver," replied the boy politely. "Oliver Twist!"

Dodger stifled a chuckle. _Oliver Twist._ What a funny name that was!

"Mine's Jack Dawkins," he admitted, sticking out a grubby hand for Oliver to shake. "Better known among me more hintimate friends as The Artful Dodger!"

Oliver was impressed.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Dodger!" he cried. He paused, and then; "Are you sure the old gentleman won't mind?"

Dodger chuckled freely then. "Trust me mate, 'e'll be glad of the company. C'mon!"

He proceeded to lead the boy through the crowded streets of London and at every sight he saw Oliver would gasp in awe and delight. Dodger found this very entertaining; he knew the city so well but this lad…he never knew anyone so green!

Oliver's awed expression changed to one of fear as he and Dodger navigated the cramped and dirty streets closer to Fagin's den. Dodger rolled his eyes a little at this; he'd get used to it soon enough.

As he and Oliver entered the loft, all the boys looked up to stare at the newcomer. There hadn't been a new 'un amongst them for months; what was Dodger playing at? Who was this boy?

Dodger seemed unfazed by the gang's hostility towards him and his charge. He steered Oliver towards Fagin's 'office' and called out to the old gentleman.

"Oi! Fagin! I brought a new friend to see ya! Oliver Twist!"

Fagin had evidently been in the middle of totting up his accounts; when he emerged he was still wearing his grimy old spectacles and there was an ink smear on one of his gloves.

"Well, well, well…" he muttered, looking at the boy before him. He was amazed the child's expression of innocence; why, he could pick pockets in church if it took his fancy!

The child held out a hand. "Sir," he said; all cordiality.

Fagin glanced quickly at Dodger; his protégé looked as bewildered at the boy's polite behavior as he was! Well…another member of the gang wouldn't hurt, even if he was scarily polite. He'd be cured of it soon enough, although Fagin had to admit, it was nice to be called 'sir'.

"I hope I shall have the honour of your intimate acquaintance!" he intoned, grasping the child's hand in a firm handshake. "We're very glad to see you Oliver, very. Aren't we, my dears?"

The boys all chorused assent, although some looked doubtful. Fagin was sure that none of them had been quite like this lad, even when they'd first arrived. Evidently he wasn't from around these parts.

Fagin was interrupted in his thoughts by Dodger, who hurriedly related to him in an undertone his earlier conversation with Oliver. Fagin nodded, understanding perfectly. He was glad Dodger had brought him; a lad like that, orphaned and alone without a farthing to his name! What luck that Dodger had spotted him!

He noticed, looking up, that the poor lad had been accosted by the boys who were all being so kind as to take Oliver's bag for him, his hat, empty his pockets even!

"Leave 'im alone!" snapped Fagin. No need to be overly friendly!

He then instructed Dodger to take off the sausages while he went to have a little chat with their new acquaintance.

"The Dodger tells me you have come to London to seek your fortune Oliver!"

The boy nodded eagerly. "Yes, sir!"

"Well, we'll have to see what we can do to 'elp ya, musn't we?"

"Th-thank you sir!"

Fagin grinned at the boy; he seemed both amazed and intimidated by all that was going on around him.

"Fagin, these sausages are mouldy!" piped up one of the boys.

"Again?" groaned Fagin, not sounding very happy. He wondered whether they really were or if the boys were simply trying to scare Oliver off. Or, which was most probably, if they just liked irritating their beloved benefactor.

He turned back to Oliver. The boy was now staring, incredulously, at the loft's impressive collection of handkerchiefs. Fagin chuckled.

"I see you're a-starin' at the pocket handkerchiefs, eh my dear? There are a great many of them, aren't there?"

Oliver nodded.

"Ah," said Fagin, deciding to conceal the gang's activities from the boy for now. Too much to cope with in a day. "We've just hung 'em out…ready for the wash, that's all my dear!" A plausible enough lie. Luckily, Oliver took the bait.

"Is this a laundry then sir?"

The gang exploded into laughter and hollers, quickly shattering Fagin's hopes of keeping the gang's activities secret.

"Not….exactly, my boy…I'm sure a laundry would be a very fine thing indeed!" he stammered, but Oliver didn't seem fazed. "But…uh…our line of business…pays a little better. Don't it boys?"

The boys laughed heartily. Of course it did.

Fagin collected the boy's wares, still trying to cover their tracks with regards to the pocket handkerchiefs and 'nicely made' wallets. He even gave Oliver a try at picking his pocket; to his amazement, the boy succeeded! He would have given him a shilling for his trouble, but didn't have enough on hand for all the boys, who had gathered eagerly around him at the very mention of money.

Afterwards he sent them all away to bed; there'd be another busy day tomorrow. The boys grumpily complied and soon they were all settled in for the night. Fagin led Oliver to a spare makeshift bed and made sure he was comfortable.

"If you go on the way you started," Fagin said earnestly, smiling fondly down at him. "You'll be the greatest man of all time."

So would Dodger. And Charley. Bill Sykes. All the other boys. They'd all be the 'greatest man'. Every single one of 'em. The phrase had long ago lost all meaning for Fagin, the words like dust in his mouth. Oliver, gullible as he was, seemed to believe his lie.

"Goodnight sir," he said softly, his eyelids drooping.

"Goodnight my dear. Sweet dreams."

"Same to you sir."

Fagin wasn't sure what to say to that. He felt…humbled. This boy, Oliver, he was different. There was something about him that just…

Fagin shook the thought off. No matter. He'd make a thief of him yet.

Chuckling inwardly, he headed back to his office. He had no intention of sleeping; there were no sweet dreams to be had for him. They'd ceased long ago.

Instead he began to brew a pot of coffee on the fireplace, careful not to wake the boys. This task accomplished he repaired to the table, snatching up his box from its new hiding place as he did so.

Could he help it? His little pleasure, his little treasure.

He ran a finger over the jumble of jewels, chuckling still.

Yes.

The greatest men of all time.

Clever dogs, clever dogs.

Fine fellows.

-FINIS-


End file.
